Looking Out For You: A Mellark Story part 1
by FireflyLlama
Summary: Zinny Mellark is the older sister of Peeta. She's always been there for him, but when he gets reaped, everything changes and nothing is simple anymore. This is her life. This is her story.
1. Glass Bowls and Soap Bubbles

**A/N- Okaii, so this is my first ever Hunger Games fanfic, so please be honest. I created this character one day after reading the books and I decided to write a story in her POV. So, I here by announce, my first chapter of my story and I hope you like it x**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, although I do own the character of Zinny x**

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><p>As I run, the coins in my palm begin to press into my skin. Smooth, but hard. I daren't relax my grip on them, for the fear that they may disappear, like most things do around here. However, it's not the discomfort in my hand that makes me wince. It's the throbbing in my feet that seems to have crept up on me, in this last half mile of running. Each step appears to hit the dry ground harder and on occasion, small darts of pain shoot up my lower leg.<p>

If that's not unpleasant enough, my throat feels as dry as a desert. As if every drop of moisture just evaporates in the hot air that encases my sweating, exhausted body. If this were a normal day, then I would collapse in a heap on the floor, and take a few minutes rest. Except, today isn't a normal day. Most definitely not a normal day.

No matter how loud my throat calls out for water, my feet call out for a break, my head calls out for a wet flannel; I won't stop. Not even for one minute. By the position of the sun, I would guess it's coming up for eleven. Typical.

I'm on the brink of collapse, when the familiar sight of the bakery fades into view. If I could just keep going for just a little further... then maybe, just maybe I'll get there in time...

I don't have the energy to open the gate, so I just climb through the gap in the crumbling wall and walk for the last few steps up to the side door. My hand is about to grasp the handle, when it swings open, only to reveal a very stern looking woman of about 40. _My mother_.

She says nothing, but just grabs me by the forearm and practically pulls me into the back room of the building.

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><p>The smell of soap greets me, as mother releases her grip on my arm and walks to the back of the room behind a torn curtain. I take this as an opportunity to inspect my sore arm. As I imagined, it's stained a lovely shade of crimson. I rub it lightly, relieving a bit of pain and returning some of the paleness of my normal skin colour back.<p>

My eyes scan the room and I spot the source of the soap stench. A large, metal bathtub sits in the middle of the room, filled to the brim with pink tinted bubbles. At this point, mother re-enters, wielding a bar of soap and a wide bottle of shampoo. Her eyes meet mine and I know what she means.

I begin to unbutton my dirt-covered shirt and dump the rest of my clothes in a tidy heap on the floor beside me. I then step into the water. Steam is rising from the surface of the water and a horrible stinging sensation covers my body as my cool skin meets the steaming water. I squint my eyes slightly as the scented liquid pours into my open cuts, cleaning out dirt and infection.

Before I can even get used to the temperature, a fat, yellow sponge with gaping holes is plunged into the water beside me. Mother then begins scrubbing me from head to toe, leaving my skin red raw and tingling. I didn't know a sponge could be so deadly as I try not to show the pain I'm feeling.

Not very long after the sponge, comes the shampoo. It feels cold on my wet hair and sends a small chill down my spine, only to be quickly demolished as the heat from the water takes over again. Hands are then rubbing all over my head, nails scraping my scalp as the shampoo is worked into my long locks. White foam and bubbles trickle down my face, some into my eyes and some creating swirling patterns of elegance on the surface of the clear liquid. I wipe away the chemicals from my eyes, attempting to ignore the stabs of pain that comes after.

By the time my mother is finished and has left the room, I'm left feeling sore, but very, very clean. Probably one of the cleanest I've been.

I step out of the bath, my feet resting on the cold tiles of the floor and my hand grabs the towel that's folded on the table nearby. I wrap it around my shivering body and gently rub myself dry, before walking over to the far corner of the room.

Hanging, limp, on the back of a chair is my dress. It looks perfect, untouched by human hands, and yet it seemed almost...fatal. Needless to say, I felt my fingers reach out and begin to stoke down the smooth, silky surface of the emerald dress. By the texture of the material against my skin, I can tell it must have been expensive; the quality is fantastic. How my parents could afford it, I wonder, but I won't ask. It just seems, impolite. It was given to me for my eighteenth birthday, so I should just accept as a gift and be pleased. Nevertheless, I can still wonder.

Cautiously, I lift it up from the back of the chair and drape it over my body. The base of the dress hangs just above my ankles and swiftly swishes from side to side when I walk. The neckline is fairly low, sitting just above my chest and leaving space for a necklace. I stand infront of the long, misted mirror and study my appearance. From the neck down, I look beautiful... Looking upwards, the rest of myself, my true self, is different and not so beautiful. And surely, the dress looks out of place. That is why it's meant for special occasions, when you're not supposed to be yourself. Special occasions like today.

Today is the annual reaping for the Hunger Games. This is where two tributes, one male and one female, are randomly selected to compete in the year's games. The rules of the games are simple: kill, or be killed. Twenty-four tributes, from all twelve districts, are placed in an arena and basically have to fight to the death. The last person standing, wins.

Sounds simple, enough. But it's not just the other tributes you have to be careful about. The Capitol always set up traps which can kill you, or as it is quite common, you die of starvation. Only the ones trained for survival win.

This is the Capitol's sick idea of entertainment, but I can dig deeper and I know it's done to show how much power they have over the districts. They use the games as a distraction from the hidden meaning and use our fear of being chosen to their advantage.

This year is the 74th games, and fortunately, I turned eighteen last week so this is my last and final year to be a possible contender. So far, the odds have been in my favour, despite my name appearing over forty times in that deadly bowl of injustice. Why so many times? Sacrifice, I suppose.

Firstly, my name is in there a few times as of my age, but the other thirty or so times? That's voluntary. But who in their right mind would volunteer to increase their chances of being chosen by such a great amount? People like me would. These teens that can sign up for tesserae for extra food for their families. It keeps us alive. I keep us alive.

Sure, we own a bakery business, but the only bread we get is the ones no one else wants. The stale, rock-hard bread. With the money we get from trading our goods we buy supplies, like flour and eggs. Not much room there for grains and oil etc. And that is why I sign up for tesserae - a lot.

No matter how hard Peeta begs to help me, I refuse to let him sign his name up. He's my younger brother and I need to save him as much as I can from becoming a victim to the Capitol. So, instead, I sign my name up on behalf of both of us. Obviously, this comes with consequences, but ones that only effect me. Ones that still keep Peeta safe.

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><p>The door gently becomes ajar and I can make out my mother standing behind it. I walk over, trying to adjust to the long dress that swings back and forth around my ankles and open the door.<p>

Her pale blue eyes flick up and down my body, as if she's checking to see if I'm perfect enough. _Far from it, _I think as she takes me upstairs.

We come into her and father's bedroom and she beckons for me to sit at her dressing table.

I sit down and look into the cracked mirror that stands before me. The frame around it is cracked also, and you can really tell how old it is.

The rest of the table is painted with a dusty coating of white, decorated with delicate carving of flowers and vines, climbing up the legs. Even through it's age and damage, it's beautiful.

My mother has had it almost all her life and it seems a part of her now. The way she sits by it everyday, gazing into the mirror while she combs her hair. The same way she did when she was my age.

Trying to think of my mother as a late teen is almost impossible. Now, she's so obsessive over little things like housework, or the crusts being even around a loaf of bread. To think of her as a peaceful, teenager in love seems so different to herself now. But one things remains the same. The fear of the reaping. Except, there's no fear for herself, but for her children.

I know she fears us being chosen as much as she did for herself, all those years ago. Maybe even more. Although she might not show it, I know how she feels. I've heard it.

The night before Flynn's first reaping, she would weep for the hope that he wouldn't be chosen. The same happened the year after. And the year after that. Every year. And even now, I still hear her whimpers and snuffles before the dreaded day. After today, she'll only be weeping for Peeta's safety, as Flynn and our other brother, Freddie have passed their reaping days. I will have too, if I get through today.

I sit silently, as mother combs my auburn hair, that hangs just below my chest, and then twists it up into a French plait at the side of my head. I've worn this style every reaping, since I was twelve and it wouldn't feel right without it. Sort of like my trademark.

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><p>After my hair is done, she makes me stand up and twirl around the room for a bit. By the look I see on her face, I know that this is what she wants me to be like everyday. She wants me to be the daughter she can dress up and try new hairstyles on in the evenings. But that's not me and it will never be me. In a way, I feel guilty of depriving that from her. So the least I can do is let her dress me up for the reaping.<p>

By the time I've finished my miniature fashion show, tears are pricking in mother's eyes, forcing her to quickly blink them away before the rest of the district can see them. I give her a warm smile, and surprisingly, it's returned.

I link my arm through Peeta's and on my other side, I link my father. We lock the faded door behind us and slowly walk to the town square. Holding our heads up high, but our hearts down low, as we make our way to the place where hearts break and tears are shed.

We say goodbye to our parents, as well as Flynn and Freddie, before we're separated ourselves and ordered into groups. We manage to whisper good luck to each other, then we turn away and line up to be told where to stand.

Peacekeepers are calling out names of the girls that fit into the age twelve category and it's not long before they're sent to the back of the crowd. The youngest always stand at the back, the oldest at the front. I've made my way forwards through the year, and now it's my time to be at the front of the crowds, facing the foot of the wooden stage in which holds the bowls of names.

Many names are called out, moving through the ages, until they finally reach my group.

My name isn't one of the first to be called, with having Mellark for a surname. But when the leader calls out _Zinnia Mellark_, I'm suddenly feeling nauseous.

Getting through the crowd is easy, seeing that the majority of the girls are younger than me, and I'm allocated a place in the line to stand, typically the front line.

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><p>I keep my face emotionless, just like I do every year, but that's more that can be said for the girl next to me. Her face is red and blotchy, her eyes streaming with tears that fall down her face and drip off her pointed chin. My hand reaches up to her and I give her a pat on the back to show some kindness and support. It seems to help a bit, because as I do, she sniffs and wipes away the tears from her damp cheek and smiles back at me. This is quite an emotional place.<p>

We all stand in an echoing silence until the Hunger Games anthem begins to play. The familar tune is all to much for one of the girls two rows behind me, as she breaks down into a state of panic. I've never been much of a crier, I prefer to keep my emotions bottled up inside me. But, if that's her way of 'dealing' with this trauma, then I can't blame her for that.

Effie Trinket trotters on stage, wearing one of her normal outrageous outfits, along with a curly wig and make up that can be spotted even in a darkened room. Following her, staggering up the stairs, is Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor from District 12.

He won the games twenty-four years ago, which was the second quarter quell. This meant that it was the 50th games, which promised an even harder year than the forty-nine ones before. So, instead of twenty-four tributes, there were double the amount, leaving Haymitch against forty-seven other tributes. Goodness knows how he won! Well, whatever happened in that arena has definitely scarred him for life.

As he takes his place, standing behind Effie, you can see that he's swaying. Clearly he's very drunk, as usual. It seems that the effects from being a tribute has lead him down the path of an alcoholic. Not pleasant to be around, but nothing can compare to what he's been through.

As the anthem dies out, Effie, her usual bubbly self, announces the seventy-fourth Hunger Games reaping. A ripple of anxious grumbles waves across the square. This is the time we dread each and every year.

A welcoming speech by Effie soon ends and the moments we've all been standing here for begin. She now stands behind a large, glass bowl, filled with tiny slips of paper. On each one a name is written.

"Ladies first!" Effie announces, waving her hand in the bowl, skimming across the slips that sit on the top of the pile. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favour"

The catchphrase sticks in my head. I think about how many slips contain my name and work out that the odds are not really in my favour. I've been lucky all those years, but is my luck about to end? Will one of my entries be chosen? What if one is chosen? What happens then?

I don't have time to answer the last question, because Effie's thin fingers have clasped around one slip of paper and she pulls it out. Opening the slip of paper delicately, reading the name and then delivering the result.

My heart seems to come to a shuddering halt, as her mouth opens and the name she states echoes around the crowds.

"Primrose Everdeen"

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><p>Gasps from the people bounce of the walls caging around us. This thing usually happens when a twelve year old is chosen to be tribute.<p>

I look through to the aisle separating the boys from the girls and see Prim, her fists clenched, walking up towards the stage. My heart feels a slight twinge as I notice the tears beginning to trickle down her sweet face. She looks to innocent to be part of something so brutal and cruel as the games.

She almost reaches the stage, when a cry from behind stuns her. It's someone calling her name.

I turn around and see a girl running towards her, before she shoves Prim behind her arm. I recognise her instantly. Katniss Everdeen. Prim's sister. Someone I don't get on with.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" She yells out loud, her arm still holding her sister back.

Voices murmur around the audience. No one has volunteered in years, so this is a bit of a shock. Not for me though, as I realise that I would have done the same if it were my sister. But she's not my sister, she's Katniss's.

Wails and screams come next, as Prim is lifted up and removed from her sister's waist. It's heartbreaking, but what Katniss is doing is the right thing. No one could let a little girl like Prim become part of the games. She's too sweet, kind and wouldn't hurt even a tiny animal. Never mind another person. Maybe Katniss isn't as bad as I thought...

Once all the commotion has died down, Effie announces for the boys to be picked. It's only now that I feel the relief wash over me. The truth remains clear now_. I'm not a tribute. I never have and never will. I'm gonna live._

"Peeta Mellark" A high and unforgettable voice slits through my thoughts.

Wait a minute... Did she just say... _Peeta Mellark_?

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><p><strong>AN- Ahhh, this chapter was really hard to write :/ But anyways, hope you liked it and by all means, read if you want more! And reviews would be greatly appreciated and don't forget that I love you all x**

**Review please so I know how you feel about it x It would make me smile, but i'm not gonna force you x **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama XD**


	2. Flabbergasted

**A/N- Roll on chapter 2! Once I finished chapter 1, I really got into the story, so more shall be revealed in this chapter about Zinny and her life, etc. So, here we go with chapter 2 x**

**Disclaimer: Yup, I still don't own The Hunger Games. But I do own Zinny (as you know)**

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><p>The silence echoes around the square. For the moments following Effie's announcement, I'm frozen to the spot. My whole body's paralysed as I attempt to take in what she just said. I can't. The words <em>Peeta Mellark <em>keep replaying in my mind, over and over. No matter how many times I see them in my mind, I can't believe they're true. They can't be true.

I'm still dumbfounded as Peeta walks up to the stand, his fists clenched tightly, his facial expression blank and unreadable. He manages to climb up the stairs to join Effie and Katniss without showing any sort of emotion. His eyes stare out in the distance as his hand is thrust up into the air in a signal we all know too well. _The sign of farewell._

It's only after the applause from the audience that I finally come to my senses and realise what's just happened. Some of the girls standing around me turn to me and offer their arms for comfort, knowing that I'm Peeta's sister._ I'm Peeta's sister. _

I'm his sister and I was too wrapped up in my own relief that I wasn't chosen, that I completely and utterly forgot about him. I guess I never thought that this would really happen. And now that it has, all I can do is run.

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><p>I run and run, leaving the swarms of celebrating people behind. Let them celebrate another year of life, I don't really care. All I care about now, is reaching Peeta, before he's taken to his death at the entertainment of the Capitol. I can't let him go without saying goodbye.<p>

_Goodbye_. That one word that means a thousand things, said a thousand times, doesn't mean much. But it does. Goodbye means a lot when it's final. When it's probably the last word you'll ever say to someone. When you say it to your brother, whom you're supposed to protect from words like this.

I've kept him safe for this far, by always being there when he needed me. Always there to pick him up and mop away those tears that dare to spring from his clear blue eyes. Those beautiful eyes that used to look at me in a state of admiration. Something we never could share with our parents. Things were always too complicated at home, with not enough room to care for each other, well not properly anyways. Sure, there was always food on the table and a roof over our heads, but that was about it. Enough to keep us alive; not enough to keep us smiling though. Our parents were always too busy to show us affection once we were old enough to walk and talk. I'd seen my older brothers live a life empty of real love and even went through it myself. So, as soon as I was old enough to understand, I swore to myself that I'd always be there for Peeta. And I guess, be the mother he never really had.

And until now, I had kept to my promise. That's why we're so close. But now, they're going to take all that away from me. All that I know, all that Iove. And I can't let them. Not now, not ever. I made a promise.

I continue running past familiar face after familiar face, each one more distressed than the one before. Most of them I recognise from the market. Buyers, sellers and just the ones that hang around trying to find scraps to feed their families at home. I can probably name all their faces, I've seen them so many times. Seen those pale, thin faces struggle to even manage a weak smile, nevermind speak. Seeing them always tore a whole in my heart and seeing them now almost brings a tear to my bone dry eyes. You don't even need to speak to them, or even know them, to know what they're feeling now. Relief. Relief that they've been spared another year, although many of them might not even last six months in their condition. It's truly heartbreaking to witness their struggle to keep alive. People know it's just life if you live in the Seam. But, deep down, it's just another reminder of how badly we're treated. The capitol live a life of luxury, meanwhile, us regular people in the Districts are often finding it hard to even keep ourselves fed, nevermind dressed in fancy clothes and jewels. Another of a long list of things the capitol are guilty for.

Pushing all these thoughts to the back of my mind, I begin to concentrate on where I'm heading. The Justice Building. This is where the newly chosen tributes are taken before they're whisked off to the Capitol, then plunged into a deadly bloodbath, otherwise known as the Hunger Games arena. They travel by a vehicle of some sort, so they'll have been there for a while now. But, I'm on foot, which will slow my time down by a lot. Maybe even enough to miss seeing Peeta completely. This thought must trigger something in my brain, because I suddenly get a rush of adrenalin and my run turns into a full sprint.

It's not long before the Justice Building swarms into full view. Only about 100 metres now. As I move closer, the crowds get thicker and I'm forced to drop my speed to just a steady jog. Peering between heads, I can just make out the main entrance, which is heavily guarded by Peacekeepers. It will take some persuasion to get myself through those doors, due to the fact that they probably won't believe Peeta's my brother, as we look so different. Him, with his blond curls, gentle blue eyes and fairly stocky build. And me, with my slightly wavy auburn hair, piercing green eyes and thin figure. Ok... looks like Plan A: persuasion, will be of no use. Plan B it is. I must admit, the idea of forcing myself in sounds more appealing. But that's just me.

After several crushed toes, a bruised arm and a face that's been elbowed more times than I can remember, I'm finally in front of the double doors that mark the entrance to one of the largest, emptiest buildings in District 12. My eyes dart around the entrance, scanning for some way of entry. Alas, the only way in seems to be in front of my body. I guess it's back to Plan A then.

A rather tall, big built Peacekeeper blocks the entrance and in his side pocket, I notice in his possession, a small gun. _Probably loaded with a sleep solution of some sort, _I think as try to examine him further. My risk assessment is cut short when he notices me sizing him up. His gaze drops down from overlooking the crowd to directly in my face.

"Can I help you, miss" He grumbles, eyes still locked on my face and his arms neatly crossed across his chest.

"Yes you can actually" I speak up boldly, trying to keep my voice steady, although my heart is beating hard from the run, "I've come to see my brother, Peeta Mellark"

His voice breaks out into a state of disbelief and laughter. "You have got to be kidding me, miss" He pauses for a moment while he chuckles a little more. Once his joke is over, he returns to his former position and frowns slightly, "Sorry, only close family. You know the rules"

I was expecting something like that to happen. But really, who can blame him? We look as much like brother and sister as, I don't know, a bear and a snake. Me being the snake. All the same, I was so sure that I would be able to break in that I didn't prepare myself with what to do if this situation arose.

"Look, I know we're not identical twins or anything, but we do have similarities, right?" I propose, with my best cheeky smile I can pull off.

"Right... Nah, don't see it" He shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes.

"Honestly, we are related. I swear on his life!" I talk back to him, a hint of desperation in my voice.

"Doesn't change anything, he'll be dead in a week or so anyway" His head turns away, obviously fed up with me.

He's pretty much the only thing standing in the way of me and Peeta and I won't let him have the satisfaction of stopping me. The only thing I want in the world right now is to see my brother, before he's taken away from me. Probably never returning. I need this so desperately and no one is going to stop me from getting it. No one. Not even a big, security guard, who's armed with a sleeping gun.

Time is running out and I can't spare any to run my mind through possible ideas. I have to think and act now.

My hand clenches up in a fist and I tense my arm, ready to punch his smug little face, when I'm stopped in my tracks. The door behind him swings open and my mother stands in the doorway, her eyes slightly red. She must have been crying.

"Let her through. She's my daughter" She says, her voice sounds slightly shaken.

The guard sighs and nods his head at her, then moves to the side and gestures with his hand for me to enter. I give him one small glare, then walk inside.

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><p>I've stepped into, what seems to be a reception. The room is fairly large, with cream painted walls and a polished marble flooring. A long, narrow granite desk stands before me. Mother takes a pen from the pot and begins to sign our names on a slip of paper, labelled 'Tribute Guests'.<p>

Once the form is filled in, she turns back to me and gestures for me to follow. Still silent, she walks a few metres ahead of me, leading me up the marble staircase and down a corridor to the left.

We walk for a few minutes, but not one word passes either of our lips. The only sound is the soft thuds of our feet, as they walk along on the marble floor. Besides, I feel to awkward to say anything and I pressume she's still upset to talk to me either. _She must have seen Peeta for the last time, _I think, as she finally stops and nods at the door infront. This must be where they're holding Peeta for his last moments in District 12.

Strangely, I start to feel somewhat nervous and hesitate to open the door straight away

I look into her eyes for some sort of comfort, but all I get in return is a clouded mist of depression. So, I turn my attention to the door that lies between me and Peeta and forget about any symptoms of nervousness that my body may be trying to deal with.

Clearly marked in a gold lettering on the faded red door, is the number 64.

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><p>The door creaks open as I step inside, closing it firmly behind me. We need privacy, time alone, before his every move is live on TV. There won't be moments for only us anymore, I'll have to share them with the rest of the districts and... the Capitol. This last thought brings a lump to my throat, but I just swallow it and make my way over to Peeta.<p>

He's sitting, head in his hands, on a lush velvet sofa. The rest of the room is as fancy as the sofa, with soft carpets and gold patterns climbing up the walls.

I sit down on the sofa beside him and tap his shoulder lightly, causing his head to stir and look up at mine.

"Hey" I whisper softly, lips curved up in a friendly smile.

"Oh, hi. Was wondering when you'd show up" He said, although the words seemed angry, the tone of his voice wasn't. It was soft and smooth.

"I would have been here sooner, honestly. You would not believe-" I begin.

"I'm only joking with you, Zinny. You're such a fuss pot" He tries to add a little light to his voice, but it still sounds depressed.

I giggle a bit, to ease the tension and lighten the atmosphere between us, but it's obvious that the moment has passed and the sadness returns.

"Well, I had you to look after, so of course I fuss a bit"

"Fortunately for you, I won't need to be looked after anymore" His eyes flicker down the the floor, as if he's avoiding eye contact.

"Peeta, don't say that. There's still a chance..." I plead softly to him, desperately attempting to force some positive thoughts into his mind.

"I can say it, cuz it's true. There is no way that someone like me would survive longer than twenty-three other tributes. Especially not against the Careers" Peeta's voice has risen slightly and his eyes flick back to meet mine.

"That's not entirely true" I say, my gaze burying deeper into his.

"They've had the training. I haven't. All I know is how to bake a loaf of bread - and that's hardly going to help me in the arena" He replies, with a sharp edge to his voice.

"You can do a lot more than that Peeta" I say back.

"Really? Yeah, like what then?" His tone hinting with sarcasm.

"Frosting" I slip out, without even thinking properly.

"Wow... now that's going to come in real handy. I'll just ice them to death!" He says even more sarcastically.

_This is going nowhere... _

"Oh, Peeta. I'm sorry for everything, it's just that all this has come as a bit of a shock to me" I let out a sigh.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You've done everything for me, and here I am, shoving it back in your face" He says.

I open my arms and offer a hug. As usual, he accepts and we sit there for a moment, stuck in each other's embrace. I don't want to let him go. All I want is to keep him here with me, safe and unharmed. But I know I can't, so I just hold him for whatever remaining moments we have together.

After a few minutes, Peeta mumbles into my shoulder.

"I'm scared, Zinny. I'm really terrified"

This only makes me hug him harder, pulling his body even closer to mine. Breathing in his familiar scent and feeling his warmth. However, soon enough, my eyes become damp with brewing tears.

I try to blink them away, but it's obvious that they're here to stay.

"This is so unfair" I finally let out, tears starting to break free from my eyes and trickle down my face.

We pull apart after a short while and he sees the tears that are now streaming down my face and dripping into my palms, forming a small pool.

Despite the wetness in my palm, Peeta takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes.

"Zinny, it's ok. These things happen, there's nothing you could have done" He calmly tells me.

I sniff quietly and wipe the dampness from my eyes and cheeks. "I know, Peeta. But these things shouldn't happen. It's not right"

"I know, but there's nothing we can do to stop it. We'll just have to deal with it like everyone else"

"But I can't, Peeta, I can't!" I stand up and turn my face away from him. "I don't see how you can be so calm about it!"

"I just have to be strong; show no weakness" He shrugs.

"No you don't! That's supposed to be _my_ job" I reply back to him, a slight shaking in my voice, as I try to keep more tears from sprouting out.

"You're entitled to show your emotions though. You're just human"

"Yeah, but that's what _they_ want! The Capitol want to see our weaknesses and see our suffering. They want to remind us who's in power" I manage to spit out, having it bubbling inside me for the past six years. "And I can't take it anymore!"

"But Zinny-" Peeta tries to cut through to me, but once I've started, I can't stop everything from spilling out.

"They think that they own us. That they're all mighty and we're just their servants and entertainers. Our suffering is their idea of a good show!" I exclaim, now pacing around the room, fists clenched with anger.

"I know, but-" He tries yet again to bring peace, but again, it fails.

"This can't go on for any longer. They can't treat us like this. They don't own us!" I'm practically shouting now.

Just as I'm about to shout more truths about the Capitol, the door slams open. A Peacekeeper stands in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest like the security gaurd at the door...

"Oh, not you again" I sneer at him, eyes flaring angrily.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to ask you to leave now" He says in his deep gruff of a voice.

"You're _sorry_! Pfft! You people of the Capitol don't apologise for anything! You're all just, cold hearted-" I yell back at him in protest.

"Miss, I think that you should be quiet and leave now, before things get out of hand" His arm gestures through the open door.

"_Before_? I think you'll find that things got out of hand a _long_ time ago, when the Capitol decided that they were better than us!" I snap back at him, the rage building up inside me getting more and more ferocious.

"Right, I've been nice. But now you're just offending the policies, so I'm going to have to remove you from the building forcefully" He says, stepping towards me.

I take a step back, ready to defend myself if needed. The whole time, my eyes are firmly locked on his face, showing that I wasn't going to back down.

He seems to register in his thick skull that he's not going to get me out alone, and he pulls out a walkie-talkie and says something in a code I don't understand. I think he's calling for back up?

Minutes later, it turns out that my prediction was right, as several other Peacekeepers flood into the room.

I exchange a quick glance with Peeta, before hands clamp tightly on my arms and I'm slowly dragged out the room.

I resist, struggle, trying to break free to get back to Peeta, whom I didn't even say a proper goodbye to. No matter how hard I jerk, scramble and thrash about, their grips never loosen. I'm strong, but not strong enough. Not against four tough men, anyway.

We're nearing the door out towards the corridor and I know it's too late. I can't get out of their grasp; as long as their holding me, I'm stuck. _Oh God, I feel so stupid! _

Why did I let them get to me that badly? Yet again, I was too busy thinking about what I wanted myself to say, without thinking about what Peeta needed. He needed comfort, a shoulder to cry on, maybe. Instead, all he got was my rambling and myself causing more trouble. Again. Just like always.

Everywhere I go, I leave a trail of trouble behind me. And I've left one here to. Here, as in the last place I'll ever be next to Peeta again. I've blown my last chances with him. I should have been strong, but here I am, being taken away by security. I'm just a girl who let's her own feelings get in the way of everything important. A trouble maker. That's what I am.

Just as the door is closing, I manage to yell at the top of my voice, hoping for Peeta to hear my last words to him.

"Just remember that you're more than a piece in their games!"

The last thing I see, is not Peeta. Nor the door that now separates us once more.

The last thing I see is my mother's face, filled with disappointment. A face I've seen too many times.

That's the last thing in my mind, _disappointment_. Then everything goes black.

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><p><strong>AN- EEkk, wow, that had emotions in it... I think you'll be able to understand a little more about how messed up Zinny is...**

**So, yes, you know the drill. Please review and I love you forever if you do x GIVE ME YOUR OPINIONS.**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama XD**


	3. An Unenviable Situation

**A/N- Um.. I've just noticed how much shorter this chapter is compared with the first two... Oh well, not to worry, it's as long as it needs to be. Anyways, the first two chapters needed more content.**

**So, here is chapter 3 then! Enjoy x**

**Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I don't own The Hunger Games, but I do own Zinny x**

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><p>I prize my eyelids open, using what little strength left in my aching body. A fluttering, blurring image starts to reveal itself and by the time my eyes are fully open, I can see that I'm in some sort of meeting room.<p>

A long, narrow wooden table stretches out in front of me, lined with chairs similar to the one I'm sitting on now. Well, more like tied to.

A thick rough strap pulls across my waist, holding my limp body in place, digging into my bottom ribs. Around my wrists are cold, metal handcuffs that are strapped behind my back. My legs are no use either, as my ankles are held together by a rope like the one around my waist. I'm well and truly stuck. Ouch.

A soft groan echoes through my throat and out of my mouth. Someone else must hear it, because the door at the end of the room creaks open. A tall, rather thin figure enters the room, carrying a strange smell with it. I cough and crane my neck to see who awaits me.

To my horror, it's President Snow that stands a metre to my left.

* * *

><p>"Ah, I see our little trouble maker has awoke at last" He whispers into my ear, but it's not the words that worry me, it's the smell of his breath.<p>

It's not a normal smell at all. In fact it seems like a mixture of roses and... blood. Sweet, but deadly at the same time.

I stay silent, racking my brains to find an answer as to why I'm here. Why I'm strapped to a chair in President Snow's mansion. What happened before? How long have I been out of consciousness? Hours, days, weeks?

My thoughts don't last long, as Snow becomes impatient and prods my shoulder sharply.

"Now, don't play the quiet card with me, girl. You've already been out of it for a day, so you'd better speak up. I have important questions for you..." He hisses down my ear.

I reluctantly give a small nod, keeping my eyes away from his.

"Good. Now, let's begin with your name" He starts, pacing around the chair.

"It's Zinny" I mumble, with as much attitude as I can manage.

"Ah... Zinny. Short for Zinnia, I presume?" He questions me, with piercing eyes staring a hole into mine.

I give another small nod.

"Ah, such a delicate flower, a zinnia is. With beauty such as yourself" He pauses and pulls a chair close to me, before sitting himself down. "So, Zinnia... you have a surname?"

"Mellark" I whisper, not appreciating being in this situation one bit.

"Mellark? As in Peeta Mellark?" His voice turns from questioning to intrigued.

"Yeah, he's my brother" The moment after I say it, I instantly regret it. What if he does something to Peeta to punish me? Have I messed up once more?

I don't know what I'm expecting the president to do next, maybe phone someone to get Peeta? Or maybe take me down to prison? Well, he doesn't do any of these. But what he does do, suprises me. A lot.

He rises from his seat and begins to applaud, a huge grin present on his face. The confusion I feel inside must show on my face, because Snow starts to laugh a deep, scratchy chuckle. My face isn't that funny...? Have I missed something here?

"Wow, you Mellarks really know how to make an impression, don't you?" He says.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask. What has been going on? What possibly could have happened in the time I was unconscious? What has Peeta done? Or was it even Peeta?

"Well, first Peeta leaves me shocked with his confession, then you go and get yourself arrested!" He continues laughing, while he explains. "It's like an early birthday!"

_What?_

"What confession?" I ask.

"Ah, yes, you must have missed it. Not to worry, you'll be seeing it some time soon, I expect" He strokes his hairless chin while smiling creepily at me.

_Wow, this guy has some serious problems..._

* * *

><p>Snow returns to his chair, pulling it even closer towards mine. His bony fingers reach up to my face and cup under my chin, his nails scratching against my skin. He holds my face still, so I won't miss a word he says. And I'm sure I won't.<p>

"Normally, miss Zinnia, I would have you a lovely job as an Avox... but seeing that you're a Mellark, that won't be necessary" His breath clouds over my face with every word he says, making me cough a little.

An Avox? Won't be necessary? How does me being a Mellark change my arrest? Is he saying I'm not worth just being a little servant? Or has he got some awful treatment in mind for me? The possibilities are endless. I guess I'll just have to wait and see...

When he at last releases his grip on my chin, he pulls out a small silver bell. His wrist twitches and a soft ringing vibrates from the bell.

Not long after, a gentle knocking sounds from the door.

"You may enter" Snow calls out to the door, before standing up and walking across the room.

The door opens and inside steps a young girl of about my age. She stands awkwardly, with her fingers fiddling with the strap of her apron. She's a fair bit shorter than me, thinner and her long blonde hair is whisped back into a swinging ponytail. Throughout the time it takes for Snow to run through some instructions, her lips remain clamped together tightly.

There's something about her mouth that seems, almost strange. Not normal, as if they've been altered or something. Then it hits me. She's an Avox. What I would have been if I wasn't Peeta's sister. But, thinking, would I even be in this position if I weren't? Would I still find myself clashing with Peacekeepers one time too many?

I think not. Maybe.

Once he's finished talking to the girl, he turns to look back at me. "Follow Clara, she'll take you to your... chambers" He says, hanging on the last word slightly.

I nod and he leaves the room, leaving behind a faint smell of roses that makes me want to be sick.

* * *

><p>"Um, hi" I say to the Clara, who's now loosening the ropes and unlocking the handcuffs.<p>

She doesn't reply, just gives a friendly look back at me. It doesn't come as much of a shock to me. Well, she's an Avox, so what would I expect?

The ropes are loose enough for me to escape their grip and the handcuffs are now off and placed on the table. I stand up and start to stretch my limbs a bit.

I have to give up after a few movements, as the aches and pains return again. My eyes scrunch together as the uncomfortableness gets worse.

Clara stands in the doorway and beckons for me to follow her, so I ignore the soreness in my legs and walk behind her.

She leads me down the corridor that the meeting room marked the end of, then we come to a flight of stairs. With great difficulty, I drag myself up, step by step until we reach the top.

Clara then takes me down a few more corridors that all look exactly the same until we come to a locked door.

She pulls out a bunch of keys from her pocket and begins to root through them to find the right one. As she's doing this, I take it as a chance to look closer at our surroundings.

Each corridor is painted a pale cream colour and decorated with gold patterns... _exactly like the Justice Building._

Sure enough, we're standing on the same red carpet and even the doors look similar. The Justice Building is like a smaller copy of this place. It's worrying, knowing that a creation from the Capitol sits in the centre of each district. Like a symbol of their power. And the reminders that we could never beat them. Only, I think we could, if we tried. All the districts working together would surely take down the likes of Snow and his empire. Could we?

The clinking sound of the key turning in the lock brings me back to reality. Clara pushes open the door and stands to the side of the doorway, nodding for me to come through. I smile at her and step through the doorway and enter my... 'chambers'.

* * *

><p>Stunning is one word to describe this room. When I imagined what it would look like, I was expecting a plain, discoloured room with a bed and maybe a small bathroom. Nothing prepared me for this.<p>

A vast open space, filled with luxurious furniture and exquisite designs is what I've walked into.

Positioned in the centre of the far wall, sits a massive bed, overlayed with silk duvets and plump, velvet cushions. Draped over the top, is a thin sheet of fabric, acting like a curtain. Just looking at it makes me feel tired.

Adjacent to the bed stands a large, oak wardrobe. The doorknobs look like they cost a fortune, nevermind the rest of the wardrobe!

Also in the room, there's a desk with a matching chair, a fancy sofa, a full length mirror with a gold frame and a door.

Curiousity forces me across the room to the door. My fingers take hold of the handle, twist it and I push open the door. There must be a sensor in the room, as the room is enveloped in a soft light as the door opens.

The room behind the door is a bathroom. It's beautifully equipped with a pristine white toilet, a large sink with golden taps, a bath big enough to swim in and a shower that seems more like a waterfall! Hanging along the walls are soft and fluffy towels of all sizes imaginable. It's a hygiene paradise, like nothing I've ever seen or experienced. Until now.

The spotless bathroom makes me notice how filthy I am. My body is decorated in bruises, gashes and cuts. My hair is a tangled mess and my dress is... I'm not wearing my dress.

My beautiful dress; a reminder of home, has been replaced by a thin, black vest top and black leggings that are torn at the knees. I look more like myself, but now, it's not what I want. All I want is to be wearing that green dress again, surrounded by familiar faces, places... _home_.

Blinking back the tears, I undress myself and step into the shower. The press of a button labelled _'Gentle Wash' _releases a warm trickle of water over my body. The drops run down my skin, collect in my hair and relaxation eases my tense muscles. The feeling off cleansing my body also cleanses my mind. The stress pours off me and is washed away down the drain. I instantly breathe a sigh of relief, then switch off the shower and step out.

I grab a towel and wrap it around my body, soaking up any drips of water that still run down my back. With another towel, I tie my hair up and walk back into the main bedroom.

Something on the bed catches my attention and I move over to inspect further.

There, lying across the bed, is a dress. Sadly, not my dress, but an attractive one all the same. It's a plain, white dress with sleeves that run down to my elbows and that finishes just below my knees. Simple, but beautiful.

I twirl infront of the mirror, admiring myself in the dress. It's a perfect fit and suits me so much. Like it was made for me... Maybe it _was_ made for me. I sigh, knowing that this must be a creation of the Capitol that was supposed to act as a bribe of some sort and sit back on the bed, dropping my shoulders as I do.

I look up at the ceiling and fall back onto the matress. As my back hits the bed, the sound of crumpled paper comes from beneath me. I jolt back up and find that I've fallen onto a small piece of creased paper. A note.

My fingers tremble as I rip it open. What is it? What could it say? My eyes scan across the paper that's been ripped from my impatience and curiousity. Hand-written in rounded, inked letters, is a note:

_Miss Zinnia,_

_We would be honoured to have you join us this evening. Please arrive at the Meeting Room at precisely 7pm. _

_Kind Regards,_

_Snow._

_Oh, and you are required to wear the dress we have so kindly left for you._

Right, I knew there would be a catch. Why else would there be a fancy dress left on my bed? Of course Snow was behind this, trying to bribe my way into siding with him. I couldn't expect anything less of his, I suppose.

But one thing is still remains unclear to me. Who does he mean by 'we'? And why am I meeting 'them'?

I guess the only way to find out, is to meet him at seven.

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><p><strong>AN- ahh creepy Snow... I still don't get the whole rose and blood breath thingy, but it's one of his main features so I had to inlcude it. Oh well, he's a weirdo and that's all we need to know right now.**

**So yup, it's time for me to ask you all to review! Please do and I will feel good and write more. yay.**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama XD**


	4. Mr Seductive Sugarcube

**I wrote this chapter really fast, as everything just kept rolling out and it was hard to keep up with it. Things just kept coming to mind, so yer...**

**Anyways, here is chapter 4 and I hope you enjoy it x**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't own The Hunger Games. **

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><p>Immense conversation turns to deadly silence as I enter the room. The type of silence that echoes after a gun shot. The type of silence that even the blink of an eye can disturb. A silence you would like to avoid. If you can.<p>

Unfortunately, for myself, I can't avoid that sound of nothing. Nor can I break it. After all, I did cause it in the first place.

As I stand awkwardly in the doorway, eyes watch me from every inch of the room. Well, at least it feels that way. There are only the Gamemakers and Snow here, but their eyes seem to double up when you're alone. Just there, as one individual person. One small girl against many big people. People high enough to take innocent lives and claim it to be reasonable. Claim it to be entertainment. Me against them.

President Snow rises from his seat at the head of the table and beckons me towards him. Although I want to turn away and run to somewhere no one can see me, I find my feet obeying his gesture.

I pass each Gamemaker on my way down the room. Every one giving me a full inspection, as if they're judging me. As if this is a trail and I'm guilty.

Except, I _am_ guilty. Guilty for being different.

The seat on the right-hand of Snow is labelled with my name, _Zinnia Mellark_. I take it and turn my attention to Snow, who stands with a thin glass filled with champagne, tapping the rim with a spoon. Once everyone's attention is focused on him, Snow begins to speak.

"I would just like to take a moment to welcome our newest comrade, Miss Zinnia Mellark" He says, waving his hand above my head.

A few hushed comments are passed around the table, each one followed by either a point or a glare in my direction. _So much for making me feel welcome... and comrade? Can he be any more insulting? I am not his 'comrade'!_

"We are all delighted to have you in our company this evening, Miss Mellark" He continues, putting emphasis on the 'we', before adding, "But before we begin our wonderful feast, let us start the gathering with a little video"

As he says the word 'video', the curtains at the opposite end of the room slide open, revealing a large, flat screen television. The lights are dimmed, the screen lights up and the anthem begins to play.

The clip is of the tribute interviews. This is where the twenty-four tributes are given only a few minutes to connect with the audiences there and at home, and more importantly, get sponsors. This is always a vital time for them, as this is there only chance to show people their true personalities before they're trust into the arena. A perfect time for a sob story, to score sympathy points with those kind-hearted people of the wealthier background and hopefully, receive gifts from them when they appear in the arena.

Personally, the sob stories don't affect me. But that's probably because of the life I lived back in District 12. Where there was no time for tears to be shed. Where we all had to get over things and get on with our lives. Or what was left of them, anyway.

The anthem fades out and the audience begin to cheer once more. Caesar, the Hunger Games interviewer, has to calm down the audience, before he introduces the next tribute.

_Peeta._

Peeta comes on, dressed in a formal outfit and looking very smart, but very different. The Capitol have changed him from the common little baker with burn marks on his hands and frosting on his face, into a smart, spotless young man. It's almost horrifying.

At least he's smiling anyway, but that's probably for the cameras, no matter how convincing it may look.

Peeta takes a seat opposite Caesar and the applauds fade down as they begin to talk. Caesar starts with the basic questions first, like how did he feel when he was chosen etc. The normal stuff. Then he moves on deeper, by asking Peeta if he has a girlfriend back home.

I know this. He doesn't. There's not even any girls he likes, although he has plenty to choose from. I've seen groups of them following him, trying to get his attention when I was at school. Not to blame them though, he is quite handsome. But even with all this attention, he's never dated any girl. Never. Not even secretly. I know, because he tells me everything.

I continue watching the interview, thinking about what his 'shock' confession might me, when I notice Peeta's face change. He's blushing. _Blushing?_

What? What just happened? What did he say?

"Rewind it quickly" I turn to Snow, who obeys my demand and rewinds the tape to the previous question.

I lean in closer and concentrate on the interview. Caesar is asking Peeta about his love life again, but this time, I'm not too quick to decide on his answer. Instead, I watch and listen to what he has to say.

Only, he doesn't deny anything. I don't move, and I don't even blink. I am not missing a single moment. What is he going to say? Is there really someone he likes back home?

Peeta sighs and looks at Caesar,

"Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember..."

I think I gasp, as the whole room turns sharply to look at me. Normally, I would glare back, or make some excuse and leave hastily. Except, I'm too shocked and I need to know what happens next.

In the space of the gasp and glaring, I seemed to have miss some questions between Caesar and Peeta. I'm about to ask Snow to rewind again, when Peeta stammers back to Caesar and the audience. I can see that he's heavily blushing as he struggles to push his next sentence out.

"Because... because...she came here with me" He finally gets out.

His confession. The confession that shocked Snow. The confession that shocks me now. Peeta is in love with... _Katniss?_

* * *

><p>The door makes a loud thud as I slam it behind me and the sound bounces of the walls and back into my ears. I don't stop to see what damage I may have caused, I take flight and flee down the corridor. And the next one, and the one after that. I just run, run and run. No idea where to go or where I'm even heading.<p>

My heart is beating at a dangerously fast rate and my head is spinning round and round. I feel physically sick and I almost threw up several times as I race down the endless, identical hallways. The whole time, the only thing I can hear over the beating of my heart, are the words _Peeta is in love with Katniss, he's in love with her and I didn't know. _I don't even know my own brother anymore. But no matter how fast I run, how far I run, I can't escape the truth. Peeta's changed.

Trying to shake the images of the new Peeta distracts me from the fact that I'm running into a dead end. Luckily, I manage to notice the wall in time and I skid to a halt, before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

By now, I'm hypreventilating and when I hold my hand up, I can see it's shaking. My whole body is shuddering as the tears pour out by the bucket-load. No amount of sniffing or wiping my eyes can stop them from streaming down my burning face. In the end, I give up and sit there, letting the drops of water fall down my face and drip into my lap. My heart rate is gradually slowing down as I gulp down the air, forcing it into my lungs. I close me eyes for a moment, the when I open them again, I notice someone standing beside me.

My eyes flicker up to whoever it is that stands beside me. He's very tall, muscular, athletic looking and his skin is a soft golden colour that shimmers slightly in the spotlight created by the chandelier that hangs above his head. A wave of bronze hair covers his head, parts of it lighter from the sun, I suspect. Wow. He's stunning just to look at.

The stranger bends down infront of me and I feel his smooth fingers wipe the tears that still trickle down my cheek. My eyes move up and meet his. The second they do, I know who this stranger is. It was obvious to me who he was by his eyes. His sea green eyes. This stranger crouching before me, is none other than Finnick Odair.

Finnick is a somewhat living legend, every young girl's fantasy. Ok, maybe not _every_ girl. He's not only gorgeous, but he's a victor as well. Winning the 65th Hunger Games at the tender age of fourteen completely changed his life. He changed from an average, charming boy living in District Four, to a unique, seductive sex symbol. Finnick is well known for his numerous flings with Capitol girls and, of course, those amazing eyes. Most girls my age would die to be in my position right now, but somehow, I've never understood why.

Sure, Finnick looks like he was carved by an angel, but I've never seen what could be so attractive about his history with girls. From the rumours I've heard, he thinks he can have whatever girl he lays eyes on, and always, he gets them. That's not something I find attractive. Good as a friend, but not as a boyfriend. But, that's just me.

"Breath any harder and they'll be no oxygen left for me" He grins cheekily at me, his eyes twinkling slightly.

I sniff and wipe my damp eyes "Oh, sorry about that"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it" He says. "What's wrong, then?"

I sigh, "Long story. It's complicated"

Finnick rises up to his feet and holds his hand out towards me, "I have time"

I smile at him and then put my trembling hand in his. He pulls me to my feet and it feels that almost instantly, my body relaxes. Maybe it's just the nice feeling of someone there to comfort you that puts me at ease. I'm not saying I trust him, but all the same, he makes me feel comfortable and it's worrying how quick he can do that. That's probably why all the girls that meet him, fall for him almost instantly. Except, maybe not all the girls he meets are collapsed on the floor, drowning in their own tears. What can I say, I'm currently an emotional wreck.

In fact, I honestly don't know why I reacted like I did before. Just the sight of Peeta and the way he's changed must have got to me. And remembering that I'll never see him again. That must have played a big part in my mini breakdown.

* * *

><p>Finnick's room is pretty much the same as mine, I notice, as he takes me in and sits me down on the sofa. I automatically sik back into the velvety fabric, letting it almost hug my body. When Finnick returns from searching through a cupboard, I sit back up. He places a box of tissues on the table by my feet and sits down beside me.<p>

"So... you know me, but I don't know you" Finnick says to me.

"Oh right, well you are the famous one" I jeer at him in a sly way. "My name's Zinny"

"Hmm, interesting name..." He points out.

"You can talk! What about '_Finnick_'? That's got to be weirder than _my_ name" I retort back to his grinning face.

He puts his head back and laughs, "You could say that"

"So, this long story you were going to tell me?"

I take in a deep breath and retrace my memories to him, from the reaping up until this minute. The whole time I'm explaining, he doesn't move an inch. He sits there, his full attention on me. And his eyes looking directly at mine. It's clear to me that he must do _a lot _of listening.

By the time I've finished, I feel much better. Letting everything out to someone does lift a bit of weight of your shoulders.

"So, Peeta never told you about Katniss, then?" Finnick asks me.

"Nope" I reply.

"He's just been hiding it for all these years then?"

"No... well, yes, maybe. Finnick, I honestly don't know anymore. Whatever the Capitol have done, or said to him, it's changed him. The Peeta you see on the screen is not the real Peeta I know. Not even close! He's becoming a different person and he's not even in the Games yet! And I... I can't keep up and deal with it"

"Yes you can, Zinny. It's ok to feel that way, I did"

"I know, but... it's easy for you to say that. But I'm not going to ever see Peeta again!"

"Zinny, I've been in Peeta's position before. And, I've been a mentor for previous years, including this year"

I sigh, knowing that he's right. If anyone knows the situation, it's Finnick. He's been a tribute before _and_ mentored others. He's probably got more experience than anyone.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither one of us moving. After a while, the silence feels too awkward, so I speak up to lighte the atmosphere.

"Hmm, you know what I've been thinking?" I grin at Finnick, who's fiddling with a piece of tattered rope.

He looks up, "What?"

"That you look much different in the flesh than on the TV" I answer.

Finnick's left eyebrow raises in a matter of confusion, "In what way?"

"You're not as 'pretty' in the flesh. Must be the airbrushing, I guess" I say, adding a little shrug for good measure.

_Haha, bet that niggled at his ego..._

"Oh, I get it. You're playing hard-to-get" He shakes his head a little, "I know your type"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself! I'm not like the other girls you've had experience with. I don't fall for your charm and flattery" I reply, the end of my lips curved upwards, in a somewhat smile.

"Oh really, is that so?" He grins back at me, reaching towards the table.

I turn my head away for a moment, "Yup"

When I turn back, Finnick's holding a bowl of sugarcubes, his white teeth crunching on one. He leans in closer to me,

"Want a sugarcube?" He whispers in my ear, in his seductive voice that all the girls back home get butterflies over. God, he's so full of himself, but it's humorous to watch his attempts to seduce me to a fluttery girl with no control over her eyelashes. Pfft, not gonna happen.

I decide to make this more entertaining for myself, so I lean in closer to him, my eyes only inches from his. I stare deeply into his sea coloured eyes... and errupt into fits of laughter. This seems to take Finnick by surprise at first, but it's not long until we're both collapsed on the sofa, doubled over in uncontrolable laughter.

When we at last start stop laughing, and begin to breath normally, I look up at the clock that's standing on his desk. _10:27pm. _

I instantly jump up from the sofa, knocking the box of tissues that balanced on the arm.

"Is that the time? Oh my gosh, am so sorry, I gotta go"

Finnick stands up too, then walks over to the door. He opens it and gestures for me to leave. When I do, he leaves as well, locking the door behind him.

"I'm presuming you have no idea where you're going, am I right in saying so?" He questions me.

"Yup, no idea whatsoever. Everything looks the same" I agree with him.

"Ah, I know the feeling. Need someone to escort you back to your quarters?" He grins and holds out his arm. I take it, linking mine through his.

"I believe I do, kind sir" I reply with a hint of elegance to my voice.

He nods at me, then leads me down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Several minutes of walking down identical corridors and we finally arrive at my room. I fumble around for the key and find it at the bottom of the pocket that's sewn into my shawl. I turn the key in the lock and the door swings open. I step inside the doorway, before turning back to Finnick.<p>

"Thanks, Finnick" I smile gratefully at him.

"Nah, no problem. I know this place like the back of my hand" He replies.

"Not just that. I'm mostly talking about earlier. That was really, erm, thoughtful"

"Ah, thoughtful is my middle name"

I softly hit his right arm and sigh, "No, seriously, Finnick. I appreciate it"

"I know, and it's cool, no worries" He says.

"So, I'll see you around then?"

"I think you will" He smiles back at me, then turns to walk away. He must change his mind about leaving that second, as he stops and looks back at me.

"You know what? I kind of like you, Zinny. You're not that bad... for a girl anyway" He adds.

I give a small snort, "Was that you're idea of a compliment, Mr Odair?"

"Hmm, yeah, I think it was" He says, then turns and walks back down the corridor.

As he's leaving, I call out to him, "And you're not that bad yourself... for a victor"

As he disappears around a corner, I swear I hear him laugh.

I go back into my room and close the door shut. A smile sneakily forms on my lips. Against all bad things here, at least I've found myself a friend. Even if it is Finnick Odair.

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><p><strong>Rightt, so that was chapter 4! For those who don't know already, I have an obsession with Finnick x I think he's wonderful ;D<strong>

**So, I cannot stress the importance of reviews! Please be nice and leave a comment for moi**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama XD**


	5. Pastries and Memories

**A/N- Ok hello again people! I have finally finished chapter 5! **

**Before I continue, I would just like to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed- I love you and keep doing it please x  
>And a special thanks to my friend (who's name won't stay here for stupid reasons) who has helped me a lot with this by reading it through before I post it and making me post it! Thanks you x<strong>

**Without further comments, let me give you... chapter 5! **

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><p>When I wake the next morning, I feel drained. Not only am I fatigued, I am famished as well. I sit up in the bed and lean against the headboard. My head is pulsating and if it weren't for the fact that I'm practically dying of hunger, I would seriously contemplate going back to sleep. Regardless of the time.<p>

After a while, I decide I'm stable and drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The sensor goes off and a blinding light brightens the room. I squint my eyes to avoid sudden blindness until they finally adjust to the light.

I look into the mirror. Staring straight back, I see a girl who looks as if she's been washed up on a desert island. Her hair hangs limp; strands twisted and mangled together. Her eyes, bloodshot and encircled with dark shadows. The rest of her face, pale and mournful. She's a mess, both outside and within. I understand why... because I'm looking at myself. The girl I see in the mirror, is none other than my reflection. And I hate it.

Still wearing the dress from last night, I strip it off and throw it on the toilet seat. The rest of my underwear follows shortly, then the shower clicks on and I spring into action. I've selected 'Power Wash' and now, water is being pumped out at a phenomenal speed. It hits my body hard, but it feels good. The sensation of pounding on my back wakes me up and get's me thinking straight.

Once the session times out, I step out the shower and rub myself dry. With the towel wrapped as some sort of a dress, I walk back into the bedroom. I'm just on my way to the wardrobe when I spot something left on the table. I go over and see a silver tray, stacked with pastries and a large pot, rising with steam. I guess they've left me breakfast.

Wasting no time in thinking about the reasoning behind the food, after what happened yesterday, I sit myself down on the sofa in front of this small feast. I grab the nearest pastry and sink my teeth into it, taste buds going wild as the warm taste of melted butter trickles down my throat. It's not long before I'm trying the next pastry. This time, a dark brown sauce, with a rich taste, oozes out the middle of the pastry. I think it's chocolate.

We had chocolate once at the bakery and used it to make these special cakes for a wedding. It was simply delicious. The smooth texture felt soothing on your tongue, not to mention the taste! In my opinion, we should have made cakes like that forever after the wedding, but it was put clear to a younger me, that we were only having it once. I remember, as only a nine year old, that I vowed I would have chocolate again one day. And here I am, keeping my promise.

Several minutes later and I've gotten through the whole plate of pastries. Normally, with food of this quality, I would savour each moment of eating it, however, my ravenous hunger took over and I consumed them all so quickly, I almost forgot to breathe. You can't blame me; I haven't eaten in a while. A long while.

My hunger is replenished, so I move on to the large steaming pot. I lift up the lid and peer inside. A dark, very hot liquid is contained and I pour some out into a mug. Holding it up to my nose, I can tell it's tea. Not like the weak, lukewarm, leafy water we have at home, but rich, strong and steaming. Despite the boiling temperature, I gulp down the first mug and pour myself another. I end up finishing the whole pot, then take a deep breath and sigh. The warmness I now feel in my body is comforting and my mind feels refreshed again.

Now that I'm washed and fed, I think it's time to get dressed and face up to the day ahead.

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><p>When I open the wardrobe, instead of seeing the bare wood inside that part of me expects, I'm greeted by an abundance of brightly coloured garments. I pull them out one by one; skirts, tops, dresses, jackets, everything. With each item, I can see that they must be originals, as the designs look so complicated and finely crafted, you couldn't possibly make a large number of them. Well, I suppose the Capitol could. They seem to be able to do everything. Pfft.<p>

Once I've emptied the whole wardrobe, I look over every item on my bed, deciding on which one to wear. Most of them are too fancy for everyday, better for evening meals or parties. Still, even the less formal ones are fancier than anything I've seen back home. In the end, I settle for a simple, grey dress. It hangs just below my knees and swishes whenever I turn. The skirt of the dress is plain, but the bodice is wildly decorated in embroided patterns of flowers. The dress itself is sleeveless, exposing my arms and just above my chest. So, I grab a thin, black shrug and head out the door, locking it behind me. Not that I need to. People always seem to get it and out, leaving me little 'gifts'. Pfft.

* * *

><p>The corridors are long and endless. When I reach the end of one, it just leads to another and I swear I've been walking in circles for the past hour or so. Wandering aimlessly along identical corridors for at least an hour and I'm still not remotely anywhere near where I should be heading. If I even knew where I was heading...<p>

Just thinking about it now... I have no idea where I want to be. Never mind getting there. Another strange thing is that, I haven't even seen another person. Wow, I must be going in circles. I am well and truly lost.

Well, lost until I see a hidden staircase behind a plant.

_Aha, genius.. ok, not really. I must have missed it hundreds of times...oh well, I've found it now._

I don't even think about what might be down them, all I want is to get out of this stupid corridor that imprisons me. Practically running down the stairs causes me to twist my ankle a little. Ouch.

When I step, more like leap, off the last stair, I can see my whereabouts much better.

I've seemed to have walked into a main corridor. I can tell from the size of it and the amount of people rushing down it. It must be at least the width of five houses the size of the ones in 12. But, I can say it's a lot busier.

People in white uniforms march down the corridor, Avoxes scurry down carrying plates of all sorts, general people of the Capitol dressed in outrageous costumes also totter down and then, there's me.

Inside, I feel nervous, like someone is going to recognise me and lock me away. But outside, no one seems to notice me. Surprising, seeing that I'm just standing there awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, but good, as I'm not really in the situation where I'd want to be seen.

Deliberately, I start walking in the opposite direction of the main flow of people. I receive a few puzzled looks from some people, but no one approaches me directly. I just avoid any eye contact and make my way down the building.

I pass rooms of all sorts, ranging from kitchens to spas and every other type of room you could ever imagine. This corridor seems even more endless than the one upstairs, trailing on forever and ever, but never quite coming to an end. The further I go, the less busy the walkway gets. Less people running about frantically, checking watches. Less noise and bodies to bump into. Less eyes to see me. But, more empty spaces for me to wander aimlessly through.

I'm really starting to get tired from getting nowhere, when I see it. By it, I mean a door. But, this door isn't a regular door with gold doorknobs and a gold plate, labelling the room behind. This door is tall, very heavy looking and made of metal. A panel full of buttons is attached to the wall beside it. A room only accessible if you know the combination to unlock the bolted door. Unless, it hasn't been closed properly and is slightly ajar. Just like it is now.

The door is heavy, but the gap is big enough for me to squeeze through. It's a bit tight, but curiosity forces me through it. Once I've passed through the gap, I exhale a sigh of relief. Then, I turn to see what I've just walked into.

* * *

><p>I've walked into yet another large corridor. However, this time, instead of stretching out in front of me, it leads off to both sides of me. I seem to be in the middle. <em>Fabulous... where the hell do I go now?<em>

I decide to go right, just as a small group of men in white uniforms march past. Luckily for me, there's a big wooden box beside me, so I duck behind it and watch them parade down the rest of the corridor. That was a little too close for my liking. Maybe I should keep low.

As I continue down the corridor, I keep myself shielded behind boxes that line the edges of the walls. The other side looks pretty much the same as the one I'm on now, except I see yet another door. This time it's a double door, labelled with 'Training Room'. I'm just about to ignore it, as I do to other doors, but something strikes me. This must be the training room for the tributes. Therefore, Peeta must be in there.

I need to get over to that door.

Of course, the simple plan of going over and opening the door is almost impossible to even think about carrying out. There is no way I can just walk in there without causing any trouble. Annoyingly, I must obey the Capitol's rules and take notice of the 'No Entry' sign next to the door. But, I'm not giving up that easily. I'll just find another way in...ok, maybe not in. Maybe just somewhere to look in. Yeah, that sounds the safer option.

I walk down the corridor, still hiding behind boxes. So far, there's been no luck in finding a way to see what's going on inside that room. No luck until I spot a window, just a few more metres away.

Practically sprinting, I get opposite the window, check to see if it's all clear and bolt across the corridor. I'm now face-to-face with the window and eagerly, I peer inside.

A small gasp escapes my mouth from the sight I see. All twenty four tributes are in there, all equipped with weapons. Several are throwing knives at a dummy. Others, hand-to-hand combat. There are loads of different stations, each one specialising in a different tactic. No wonder the tributes in previous years are so good at fighting. The training they receive is fantastic!

I'm frantically searching for Peeta, hoping that I don't see anything to awful. However, all I see are mainly, the Careers, showing off with their fancy skills and knowledge of kiling techniques. That's just typical Career though.

I'm about to give up when at last I spot him. He's standing in the far corner of the room, throwing some massive objects that must weigh a ton. I can see his muscles flexing as he swings his arm around, releasing the objects. They soar through the air, landing quite a way in front of him. It's an amazing sigh to see.

Wow, I knew he was strong. But, not _that_ strong.

* * *

><p>I'm transfixed, just in awe with Peeta's skills that I'm oblivious to anything occuring on my side of the glass. Just watching him, training to kill, it's just... wrong. I've barely accepted the fact that he was reaped, but now seeing him practicing killing techniques really brings me back to reality. Peeta is in there, learning how to kill to save his life. He will only have a few days of this training, before he's thrust into an arena to fight for his life, while Snow and the rest of Panem sit comfortably in front of TV screens, watching him suffer. Probably watching him thought releases a single tear from my eye, that slides down my cheek.<p>

My hand reaches up to wipe away the dampness on my cheek, when another hand is placed firmly on my shoulder.

My head whips around and my eyes meet a pair of sea green ones. _Finnick._

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" I yell at him, punching his right arm.

"I hardly snuck up on you, Zinny. You were off in a dream world anyway" He says, rubbing his arm slightly. _Pfft, wimp._

"I was not!" I retort back at him.

He doesn't retaliate to my denial, he just laughs, shaking his head a little. "Oh you're so sensitive, baker girl"

"Don't call me that!" I snap back.

"Ok, ok. Calm yourself, it was just a jokey nickname" He says, his hands in held in front of him in a 'let's make peace' gesture.

I sigh, knowing now that I overreacted. God, I'm doing a lot of that lately. Hmm, I blame it on hormones. Actually, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my little brother is about to thrown into a pit of goodness knows what, killing to avoid being killed. Perchance.

"Look, Finnick, I'm sorry. I was just.. oh, I dunno..." I apologise to him, but never quite manage to get out how I felt.

"...Upset?" He offers.

"Yeah, I suppose" I shrug back. "Sorry for being upset all the time"

"It's ok, you're entitled to show your emotions" He says.

_What?_

For a second I can't speak. I can't move. I can't think. All I can hear is Peeta's voice telling me, _'you're entitled to show your emotions'. _They were the last words he said to me. The last words he spoke, directly to me, before I started screaming about the Capitol and never spoke to him again. His last words of truth to me. Yet, I had cast them aside and ignored them, not knowing that they would be the last words we could share. I let them pass. But now, they've resurfaced, but this time, not said by Peeta.

Images flash through my mind, colliding with one another, forming new ones. There's Peeta and me in the bakery, him with a frosting-covered nose, and me, laughing at him. This joyful image passes, revealing a new one from my past. This time, I see a younger Peeta trying to build a snowman in the freshly layered snow. His hands are blue from holding the cold snow, but he keeps building, adding handfuls of snow to the lopsided snowman.

The memories keep on coming, one after another, every one of Peeta. His first day of high school, dressed in father's old shirt and faded trousers; playing with the flat ball against the back wall of the bakery, then being told off by our parents; making up stories and acting them out, whilst shading under the tree at the bottom of the garden. Then, I see the reaping and Peeta being chosen, and the look on his face as he stepped up to his fate. This soon fades out into our last conversation and the last words he ever said to me; that Finnick has just said. Finally, ending with the image of Peeta training in the Training Room...

"Zinny? What's wrong? Have I said something?" Finnick's worried voice wakes me from my flashbacks.

"Oh, erm, what?" I stammer, still dazed from what I just saw in my mind.

"You suddenly went all quiet and weird. Like you were in a dream world again" His eyes look worryingly into mine.

"I, erm... I think I just had a flashback" I manage to say back to him.

"A flashback? Of what?" His eyes grow wide as he questions me.

"Peeta" I reply.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Everything. There were bits from when we were younger, ageing up to the reaping, then the last words he ever said to me..." I say, not quite finishing the sentence.

"Were, '_your entitled to show your emotions'_..." He finishes for me.

I give a small nod and look up to him. He holds out his arms, offering a hug. I sniff and bury myself in his shirt, letting his arms wrap around my body. The heat from his chest radiates off him and comforts me. The steady beat of his heart keeps me sure that someone is really here for me. Here to wipe away my tears, provide a shoulder to cry on and keep a lifetime's supply to comforting hugs.

It's only when a deep voice interrupts, that I pull away from Finnick. I look to see a tall, broad man, dressed in a white suit. He stands, still, and looks at us uncertainingly.

"Mr Odair and umm..." He begins, staring at Finnick, then me.

"Daisy, my girlfriend" Finnick steps in, putting one arm across my shoulders.

I'm about to protest, but then I realise that it's best to just play along. So, I smile back at Finnick and lean my head into his arm.

"Oh right then. I wasn't too sure. I didn't recognise her, you know, just doing my job and keeping this place private. I'm sorry Mr Odair" The man in uniform stutters back to Finnick, then gives a small nod and walks down the corridor.

Finnick gives him a small wave and turns back to me, his face presenting a huge grin.

I glare back at him, but inside I'm laughing. He must be able to tell this, as he starts to chuckle.

"You should have seen your face, Zinny!" He laughs at me, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"It wasn't _that_ funny..." I deny.

"Uh, yes it was" he says.

"It was not!" I retaliate.

"Oh come on, lighten up" He says, lightly punching my arm.

"Me, lighten up?" I resist the temptation to laugh with him.

"Yes, you. Lighten up" He replies, still beaming with glee.

This guy is unbelievable! Telling me to lighten up, eh? Who does he think he is? But, all the same, he is quite a character. And always seems to make me smile...

"Ugh, fine" I cave in, letting ripples of laughter escape through my mouth.

"That's better! Laughter at last!"

"Hey, I'm not _that_ boring you know"

"Sure, whatever you say, Miss Mellark"

"Uh! At least I could have chosen a more interesting name. You're so... um, average!"

"I am no such thing!"

"Daisy? Seriously? You couldn't have been more imaginable?"

"I do have an imagination if that's what you're saying"

"Really? Is there even space in that ego of yours?"

"Hey! I do not have an ego!"

"Sure, whatever you say, Mr Odair"

"Ha ha, very funny"

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><p><strong>AN- Yay, so more cute Finnick stuff. I'm really loving making up their conversations x**

**So yup, that was chapter 5 and chapter 6 is currently being made now, so PLEASE REVIEW :D**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	6. One, Two, Three

**A/N- Hello again... wow I'm getting through this quickly this week :D**

**I sat on my bed and wrote all night, determined to get this one finished for y'all and here it is, enjoy!**

**I am not Suzanne Collins, therefore I don't own The Hunger Games. Although, I do own Zinny x**

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><p>A soft knock from my door wakes me this morning. I groan and sit up, rubbing my eyes and wiping away the sleep that's collected in the corners over the night period.<p>

"Who is it?" I call, my voice brimming with sleepy groans.

"Who do you think, silly?" Finnick's voice replies from behind the wood.

"Why are you here so early?" I moan back.

"Today's a big day, remember?" He answers.

"What?" I grumble back. I mean, seriously, how does today different from every other day I've spent here? It's always the same routine of getting up, eating breakfast, then spending most of the day touring the Capitol with Finnick. It's not like I'm going anywhere, or-

Hold on a minute.I mentally add up the days in my head. No way. Have I counted right? Could today really be the launch of The 74th Hunger Games? Is today Peeta's last morning of civilisation before he's thrown into the arena this afternoon?

It can't be. It's too fast. This is not happening. Not today.

"Today, it's the-" Finnick begins to answer, but he's cut off by me yelling back.

"Yer, I know. The day where Peeta is cut off from the rest of the world and starts his fight for survival against twenty-three other teenagers, whom probably have more experience and knowledge about the subject of killing than he does! Hang on one minute, let me get the door"

I swing my legs out of the bed and run over to the door. I take off the latch that holds it in place and Finnick enters. He's already dressed and ready, whereas I've barely even woken up. It feels too early. Way too early. Wait, what time is it?

"Six o'clock sharp, just as I said" Finnick announces, tapping a watch and sitting himself down on the sofa.

"_Ugh, it's early though_" I whine at him, but he takes no notice.

"No time to laziness now. C'mon, chop chop now" He pushes me lightly in the direction of the bathroom.

I close the door behind me and go over to the sink. I turn the cold tap on and splash some water of my face, waking myself up a little. I know I don't have time for a shower, so I make do and wash myself roughly with the water from the taps. Picking up my toothbrush, I load it with toothpaste, stick it in my mouth and walk back into the bedroom.

Finnick stands there, holding out a pale blue dress with a deeper marine ribboned belt stitched across the waist. It's beautiful.

"I thought you'd better wear something nice when we go and see Peeta" He says, passing me the dress and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh right, I suppose I should" I smile back at him, holding the dress in front of myself and looking into the mirror.

I totally forgot when I woke up, that today, Finnick had promised me that he would take me to see Peeta before the Games. It's not that I forgot the promise, I just didn't realise the days creeping up on me. It all just seems to have gone past too quickly, without warning me that today was just minutes away. I sigh. Today, I'm being given a second chance of a last goodbye and I'm really grateful to Finnick for making it happen.

Normally, The Justice Building would have been my last meeting with Peeta. That's the way the rules work. However, I'm not much of a rule-follower so of course I wouldn't obey them. I already sneak down to watch Peeta train through a window, which was as close as I thought I would get. That is, until Finnick thought up this idea.

Being the mentor for District 4 this year, Finnick already has access to most parts of the mansion. Not to mention, he knows practically _everyone_ here. So, using this to our advantage, he's organised a secret meeting with Peeta, so we can see each other properly, before the Games begin. Honestly, part of me can't wait to see him, but, the other part of me is completely terrified.

What if I mess up again? What if our plan goes wrong and someone finds out? And what if he doesn't want to speak to me after last time?

These questions roll around and around in my mind until I feel as if I could collapse in a broken heap on the floor, curled up and wanting the world to open up and swallow me whole. Fortunately, I keep my cool on things and turn my mind off these questions.

"So, what do you think?" I ask Finnick, giving him a little twirl in the dress.

He smiles at me winking with his right eye, "Gorgeous, darling, gorgeous"

I roll my eyes at him, but inside I'm pleased. He may have had the record amount of girlfriends in the whole of Panem, but he sure knows how to make a girl feel good about herself. I guess that's another of his long list of qualities...

I give my hair a quick brush and check the clock, _6:48am. _Twelve minutes until I see Peeta for the last time. Properly, for the last time.

Finnick opens the door and gestures that we should get going.

"You ready?" He asks, holding open the door.

"As ready as I'll ever be"

* * *

><p>We pause, standing outside the door labelled <em>'Interview Room 1'. <em>I'm starting to feel nervous again, my heart fluttering and my head feeling light. My breathing deepens too, as I attempt to slow my ever increasing heart rate. _In through the nose, out through the mouth..._

"You ok?" Finnick turns to me.

"Yeah, I'm fine" I nod back at him.

"Ready?" He asks, nodding at the door, one hand resting on the doorknob.

I take a deep breath and find his other hand and grip it tightly. He smiles at me and squeezes my hand in his, assuring me that everything is ok. But it's not ok. Nothing is ok anymore. I'm about to speak to my little brother for the last time, before he's lead to his death. It's hard to stay sane, but I'm doing it for his sake. If he sees that I'm coping the best I can, then he'll feel better about things. On the other hand, if he sees that I'm not coping, then he'll worry about me and not concentrate on staying alive. I need to show him that there is hope, even if he doesn't believe it. I have to try.

I look at Finnick, "Ready"

The handle turns and I enter the room.

* * *

><p>The room is empty and bland, except from a table with a few chairs placed around it. Peeta's sat on one of the chairs, fiddling his fingers on the table surface. He looks up as I walk in and smiles at me. I smile back and sit down on a chair next to him.<p>

My hand reaches out across the table and rests on top of his.

"Hey, you" I whisper softly.

"Hi" He whispers back.

I raise my forearm and brush a loose curl of hair from his face with my fingers. Just like I've always done.

"How are you doing?" I ask him, drawing back from fixing his hair.

"Alright, I suppose. Bearing in mind the situation, I could be clinically depressed or self-harming, but I'm not, so I must be doing pretty good" He grins at me, a little unconvincingly.

"Well, that's always good to hear" I smile back at him.

We stay silent for a few moments afterwards, not knowing what to say to each other next. It's Peeta that soon breaks the awkward silence.

"Anyways, how are you?" He asks me, looking into my eyes for traces of emotion.

I shrug, "Fine, but that doesn't matter now. What matters is you"

"Nah, I'll be fine. The training has been alright and Haymitch has given me some tips" He says.

"I know all about the training. Why didn't you tell me how strong you were?" I question him, my voice full of curiosity.

"Hm, I didn't really know about it myself, until recently. It's not that amazing though, Zinny. I just throw a few big things, no biggie" His answer is modest. Typical Peeta.

"Seriously, Peeta, it is. I could never lift any of those things you did!" I protest.

"That's because you're a girl" He says cheekily.

I give a little gasp of disbelief, "That's not fair!"

"But it's true" He laughs in his little cheeky way.

I giggle back at him, shaking my head.

"You haven't changed one bit!" I say to him, prodding his arm with an extended finger.

"Maybe not yet..." He trails off, looking to his feet uncertainly.

"Oh, Peeta, not now" I whisper to him, wanting to keep these happy moments for a little while longer.

"We can't forget about it now. It's too late, I'm going in, in a few hours" He shrugs, still not looking at me.

"I know, I know. And I need to accept that" I say.

Peeta's eyes flicker back up to meet mine, "I just can't believe it's today, that's all. I don't feel... prepared enough"

But before I can reassure him, a knock on the door echoes around the room and the door creaks open. Finnick's head peeps round and nods to me. It's time to go.

I turn back to Peeta and look deeply into his eyes, keeping his attention,

"I've got to go now, but when you're in there, the first thing to do is create distance between you and the other tributes, then straight away, find a water supply. As soon as you have access water, then you can think of a strategy. Hmm, let me see... If you can get hold of a knife, that would be very handy... and also some other weapons for emergency combat. Also, don't forget to use your strength and camouflage abilities as much as possible. You'll always need defence, not just attack methods. You never know what will be in there with you.." My words of advice come pouring out to him, because this time, I want to make sure that the last things he hears from me are beneficial.

"Zinny, thanks, but you really should go now. I don't want to get you in anymore trouble with Snow" Peeta stops me.

I sigh, knowing he's completely right. As usual, I rambled a little too much.

"Ok, ok, I'll go. Just promise me you'll be careful?" I ask, holding his arm, my fingers digging into his flesh.

"I promise"

I move closer and wrap my arms around him. Pulling him closer to my body, not willing for him to leave me. If only I could keep him safe with me, then maybe he'd get to live his life properly.

"Remember that I love you, ok?" I murmur into his ear.

"Always will, sis. And I love you too" He whispers back in mine.

We pull apart, I kiss him lightly on the forehead, brush away another strand of blond hair from his face and leave the room, not looking back.

* * *

><p>For the next few hours, I'm alone in my room. Finnick has gone to prepare his tributes before the Games start, so I'm left waiting anxiously for the TV to come alive and show the countdown for the start of the 74th Hunger Games. After pacing up and down the room for about the 200th time in the last hour or so, the screen on the wall lights up.<p>

I run back to the sofa and sit down, leaning in to be closer to the screen. The anthem begins to play and the cameras show each of the twelve districts out on the streets, cheering for their tributes. I wait patiently until images of the tributes from the first eleven districts have been showed, then gulp as Peeta's picture is filling the screen. He looks very serious and sinister on the image, entirely different to how he normally looks. But that's just for the audience, you're supposed to look strong.

Once the introduction has finally come to an end, the camera shows live footage from the centre of the arena. The Cornucopia stands proudly in the middle of twelve metal plates. From the angle of the camera, I can see that the centre of the arena is in the middle of an open meadow, and to one side of it, lies a deep forest. I can't quite see what's on the other side, but it could be anything. The arena changes every year, from sweltering deserts to freezing waste lands. Luckily for Peeta, this doesn't look too extreme. Thank goodness.

A loud countdown starting from sixty booms from the speakers and the tributes are raised up on their platforms, seeing the arena for the first time. I recognise Katniss straight away, looking fairly confident and scanning her surroundings. I hope she gets killed fairly early, then Peeta won't have to kill her... that is if he was telling the truth about loving her in the interviews. I'm still sceptical about the whole confession, but that's not important now. There's only ten seconds on the countdown, but I still haven't spotted him.

_Six, five, four..._And I finally spot him, standing on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, also seeming somewhat confident. There's a slight flicker in his eyes which shows he's terrified. But so am I.

_Three, two...one... _And the countdown comes to an end, releasing all the tributes from their plates to sprint for the best equipment around the Cornucopia. Above all, the Careers seem to get there before most of the others do, giving them first choice in the best weapons. That's predictable.

Before I can even look for Peeta, the canon fires, signalling that someone's died. This will go off a lot in the first hour or so, when it's a bloodbath as everyone collects what they can and try to get away. This is one of the worst parts, when you see a large percentage of the tributes drop dead all in the same time period.

The bloodbath is over, bodies lie helplessly on the grass around the Cornucopia. Knives tipped with blood rest along side them, gleaming in the sun rays. Everywhere within a kilometre radius from where the metal plates were is splattered in blood, used weapons and more blood. Hence the name, bloodbath.

Throughout the whole hour of so, everything was so hectic that I couldn't have possibly seen what Peeta did. Or even if he got out alive...

The meadow is empty, apart from the deceased bodies and abandones supplies. Not a soul in sight. About a third of the tributes died in the bloodbath, I believe, seeing the amount of bodies that lie in the grass. A sickening thought arises within me; Peeta could be one of those. I didn't see him leave his plate. I didn't see him engage in battle. I didn't see him collect any supplies. _I didn't see him leave the Cornucopia... _

Then the truth hits me. Hard.

Peeta might be dead.

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><p><strong>AN- Okay, so that was chapter 6 and things are starting to move on a bit, Peeta's in the games... but have I put a twist on things from the book? Aha, read and review to find out! PLEASE CLICK MY FAVOURITE BUTTON CALLED 'REVIEW' **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	7. Perplexing Emotions

**A/N- Yay, so I've been recieving lots of happy comments and emails and stuff about this story, so another huge thank you to everyone who's reading this! **

**Chapter 7 is going to be interesting... so enjoy x**

**Unfortunately, I still do not own The Hunger Games**

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><p>Peeta isn't dead. He survived the bloodbath. <em>He's alive!<em>

I had sat, unmoving from the sofa pretty much all yesterday afternoon. From the countdown until the day's highlights. I had sat, mind frozen on one hope; the hope that Peeta was still alive. When I hadn't seen him all through the bloodbath, I was almost convinced that he was dead. With all the commotion and large number of deaths, I couldn't keep up with Peeta's whereabouts. They had showed some of the other tributes that had survived the first battle, but none of them were Peeta.

But, when his face didn't appear with the other dead tributes' at the end of the show, I can say I was pretty ecstatic. But above all, relieved. Relieved that he could live at least another day longer. Relieved that he still had a small chance of maybe even winning. That I could still see him again, but safe this time. I shouldn't get my hopes up too high however, there's still about five Careers left. And they'll probably team up to hunt down Peeta and the others. But, for now, I'll keep myself calm, knowing that Peeta is still alive, still breathing, still thinking. And maybe, just maybe, he's thinking about me.

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><p>Right now, it's the next morning and the second day of the Games. Peeta has survived the first day, so I'm ok. Well, as ok as I can be, seeing the situation, the chances of being happy are pretty slim. I don't think anything could make me smile right now, unless I saw Peeta again.<p>

I _would_ be sitting in front of the screen all day, watching the Games and hoping to see Peeta safe.. ish. However, I am not. Snow has put a lock on my TV, which only allows me to watch the highlights of the Games each night. So I can't see any live footage, not even of Peeta. Because this is the cruel, twisted person the president is. He just wants me to suffer through each day, oblivious to whether Peeta is alive or not. After all, he could have easily died through the night, or early this morning and I wouldn't know. And I've got to say, it's killing me. But that's exactly what Snow wants. But I don't see why.

How is my suffering benefiting him? I don't see why I'm still here. There must be a reason for it though, otherwise Snow would have made me an Avox ages ago. Am I considered valuable because of Peeta? And if so, why?

So, to avoid moping around in a deep state of despair while I wait impatiently for evening to come, I've decided to do something productive. I've decided to get hold of a map of the mansion and work out an escape route. This way, if Peeta is still alive in a few days, I can be back in 12 wishing for his safety, along with my family.

I guess it must be pretty empty at home, what with both me and Peeta not there. I can't imagine what my parents must be going through. Not only is their youngest son a tribute in the Hunger Games, but their only daughter is hundreds of miles away and being held against her will in the hands of the Capitol. It must be horrible for them and even though they might not show it, I know that they do love us both with all their hearts. As do I and I would do anything to let them know that I'm ok and unharmed. Hopefully, if I can escape, then I will be able to show them that.

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><p><em>Oh, my, God<em>. Who draws these maps? They're that confusing, I can't even tell the difference when holding it upside down! It looks like a toddler has gotten hold of a pen and scribbled over the whole map. There's lines and symbols everywhere, but no key! I can't tell one symbol from another, not to mention the amount of hidden corridors and rooms with no names. The whole mansion is a maze itself, with one entrance and no exit. At least, no exit for the likes of myself. Whoever designed this place must have been planning to hold lots of people here, most probably servants. Now, I'm really starting to doubt my escape plans...

I can't see how even a really intelligent person could make sense of these. They're ridiculously confusing! I eventually lose my control and scream, throwing the maps to the floor. They land with a soft crumple and spread out across the floor, tripping me up as I walk over them. This only causes me to scream once more and stomp my feet hard, down on the plush carpet. Small darts of pain shoot up my foot to my lower leg. I'm too hot inside that it doesn't really hurt much at all.

But my anger doesn't last long though, as my rage turns to tears.

They stream down my face, completely drenching it. I squeeze my eyelids tightly together, trying to block out the pounding in my temple, but my head continues to palpitate and the tears continue to sprout out uncontrollably. I slam the back of my skull against the wall, to try to get a grip on myself, but it only releases physical pain. As my anger has subsided, I can really feel the pain this time.

The throbbing in my head is multiplied and I'm starting to feel faint. My throat feels as if it's slowly closing up, making me gasp out for more air. I don't feel enough oxygen going to my lungs as everything gets dizzy. I'm struggling to breathe now and the walls seem like they're closing in on me. I need to get out. I need air. I need to breathe.

* * *

><p>The cool air cascades over me, lowering my body temperature a little. I take in the fresh air, gulping it down like there's no tomorrow. Only there is a tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. I find it hard to get through one day, so can I manage the many others that follow? I probably could, if Peeta won the Games. But if he doesn't, then what will I do with the rest of my life? I can't cry over Peeta all my life; I'll end up hanging myself or something from depression. Besides, Peeta wouldn't want that for me, just as I wouldn't want it for him if things were the other way round. If only things were the other way round. Alas, they're not, so I need to stop wishing and get on with life.<p>

There's a cool breeze up on the roof, that waves through my loose hair, creating a rippling effect. I don't know why I didn't come up here before when things got tough; it's so peaceful and carefree. I feel as if the world is far below my feet and up here, I'm free to think alone and be myself without any judgement. Up here, where no one can hurt me.

I perch myself near the edge of the roof, not too close, but far enough to feel away from the rest of the mansion. I have a few minutes of silence to myself, before someone comes up to join me.

Finnick sits on the floor next to me, his bronze hair ruffled by the wind. He must have seen me running up here and has come to make sure I don't do anything reckless. Not that I would... maybe.

"Hey, you ok?" He asks me.

I take in another breath and turn to face him, "Not really..."

"Nothing new there, then" He sighs.

I murmur in agreement and look back to face the Capitol off the edge of the roof.

"I used to come up here a lot, you know" Finnick says, breaking the silence.

"Really, why?" I ask, wondering what sorts of problems he could have had in the past.

I think of none.

"To escape life in the Capitol, I guess..." He sighs.

I look at him uncertainly.

"I liked being on my own too and up here, you get all the privacy in the world" He continues, staring out into the distance.

"What about all your other girlfriends here? Didn't they want your undivided attention?" I ask.

Finnick shakes his head slightly, still looking out.

"They weren't girlfriends. None of them were. The only real girlfriend I've had was when I was thirteen, and that wasn't even anything serious"

I'm really confused now, doesn't Finnick hold the record for the most girlfriends in Panem?

"What do you mean? I thought you've had loads of girlfriends...?" I question.

"Nope. That was just a cover up for the truth" He replies simply and bluntly.

"The truth?" I ask.

"Doesn't matter now, it's a long story" He says, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have time" I smile at him, remembering how he did this once for me.

Finnick takes a deep breath and begins.

"Well, after I won my Games, I became very popular with the girls... They used to go wild and try to kiss me when I was on the Victory Tour. So, anyways, Snow saw this as an advantage to his power, so as soon as I turned sixteen, he, umm... came up with an arrangement..." He trails off, and I can see that he's never told anyone this before.

"Arrangement?" I ask, allowing him time to think things through.

"Um, Snow had this friend, Monroe, and well... he kind of... sold my body..." He continues, but this time he stammers in his speech.

"Sold it? Like, to women?" I say, shocked.

"Yeah..." He answers, with a little shake to his voice.

"How dare he! That must have been awful for you. Are you ok?" I try to comfort him, but somehow, I wasn't prepared for anything like this.

"I'm fine now. It's stopped while the Games are on. But, I'm used to it now, I suppose" He says.

"But, Finnick, it's not fine!" I tell him.

"Well there's nothing I can do about it, I was forced" He protests back, trying to convince me that everything was fine. Only it wasn't and I can see it in his eyes that it wasn't fine.

"I am so sorry Finnick..." I say to him, trying to reach out and give him the sympathy he needs.

"It's not your fault, Zinny. You didn't know" He assures me.

"But when we first met, I judged you instantly as an arrogant guy who just uses girls whenever it suits him" I say back.

"But that's what you were told by the Capitol. You weren't to know then" He says.

"I know, but I still feel bad about it" I say.

"You shouldn't though" He looks at me, "You're not like any of the other girls I've known. You're not interested in fame or fortune. You just saw the real in me and that's... that's a first. Every girl I've met have only been interested in my body and image, whereas you don't even seem to notice"

"Well, I'm not most girls, am I?" I smile, "And, by the way, I never said you weren't attractive"

"Ha ha, you sure about that?" He grins at me, his white teeth glimmering in the remaining bits of sunlight.

"Maybe" I grin back, teasing him. But, honestly, I don't know whether I have feelings for him or not. Sure, he's stunningly gorgeous, but does that mean I feel something for him? Before I thought we were just friends, but now...I'm not sure.

"Really, Zinny... Do you not remember the sugarcube incident?" He laughs to me.

"Oh come on! That wasn't sexy, it was hilarious!" I point out.

"Oh thanks... So now I'm an unattractive comedian, am I?" He jokes.

"Oh stop it, Finnick. You're such a drama queen!" I say.

"I am not!" He protests.

"You _so_ are!" I retort back.

There's a small silence between us, Finnick doesn't speak back for a moment. Instead, he just sighs and gazes out again. I look at him, then he turns back round to me.

"Ah, I haven't had a laugh like this with anyone, except you, in a while" He says, chewing his top lip lightly.

"Well, I'm not planning on going anywhere soon" I reply in a slight hushed manner.

Finnick leans in closer to me and whispers in my ear, "Good"

My heart skips a beat when he says that word. It's not the word that surprises me, but it's the way he said it. Said with a hint of his seductive tone. Is he making a move on me?

When he pulls back from my ear, he pauses in front of me, his lips only a few inches from mine. His sea green eyes catch mine and we're suddenly locked in a gaze. His eyes are just so beautiful and different, that it's so hard to look away. Because of this, I find myself unable to move as he moves closer.

Now I can feel his breath on my cheek, slow but deep. As his eyelids close, I find mine doing the same. I can't hold back the desire that's bubbling inside my veins. Our lips touch and sparks are sent down my body.

For a minute, the whole world has disappeared and it's just us, alone on the roof. Nothing seems real anymore, except for Finnick and I. Every other thought has left my mind, and the rest of reality is far behind. It's as if I'm dreaming, where I can't think or touch anything. And I've only ever felt like this once before.

I'm completely lost in the moment, when I suddenly realise what I'm doing. What _am_ I doing? I can't even remember how we got in this situation...One minute we're laughing like friends and the next, we're kissing! This is so wrong right now. The timing is so wrong. This is probably only happening because our emotions are all messed up with the Games and what not. We don't want this. This is only for comfort, and I can't let it go on much longer when I know it's not real.

"Finnick, no" I mutter, pulling apart. "I can't do this, I just can't"

"I'm so sorry, Zinny. I don't know what happened" Finnick apologises, his eyebrows knotted in a frown.

"Neither do I, but I do know that it shouldn't have happened" I utter, standing up.

He goes to say something else, but I don't stay to hear it. I've taken off towards the stairs back into the mansion, my eyes filling up with tears. I stumble a few times down the stairs, but as soon as I reach the bottom, I sprint back to my room, not daring to look back incase Finnick's behind me.

I fumble for the key and burst in the room. Slamming the door with a satisfying shove, I crumble to the floor, my back against the solid wood. My fingers tremble as they run through my wind-swept hair. The tears have broken and begin to slide down my face. I blink some of them away, like I only wish I could do with my problems.

I tilt my head back against the door and look up to the ceiling above me. Breathing slowly, I assess my situation. Peeta might not even have days left to live and I've just ruined my only friendship.

_How did I end up like this?_

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><p><strong>AN- Okay, so ooohh what's gonna happen next I wonder? Well... keep reading and reviewing to find out! Going to start chapter 8 later today, so will be up in the next day or so**

**Please review, it will make me smile even more!**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	8. Resurfaced

**A/N-** **Right then, so I managed to finish chapter 8 and edited it last night so it's all ready!**

**Now, this chapter reveals some jazz so you'll be able to know a bit more about Zinny's background, enjoy!**

**I don't own the Hunger Games...sadly... but on a positive, I do own Zinny. x**

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><p>I have good news and bad news... Good news: Peeta has made the final 8. Bad news: Finnick has disappeared.<p>

When I say disappeared, I mean he's avoiding me. We haven't spoken, or seen each other. I haven't even seen him from a distance. Not a hair or hide of him. Nothing. And I guess that's my fault.

Now, I can really feel the emptiness inside and it's slowly killing me. These last few days, I've been alone. All day and all night. No one to keep me smiling. No one here to comfort or distract me when I need them most.

It's been hard to cope lately, so I've been spending the days sitting in my own bubble of depression. Watching Peeta survive each day, but watching myself slowly fade away. I'm breaking down.

Through all this, the only thing keeping me from giving up completely, is Peeta. He might be in constant danger, but he's still breathing. And as long as his heart beats, mine will too. Knowing that he hasn't given up yet gives me the hope I need to carry on. If he can make the final eight, then I can keep praying for him. Only, praying won't help him for long. The competition is getting worse and it will be hard for him to last much longer. What he needs, is for me to provide a miracle, but seeing that I don't wear a fancy pink dress and equip a sparkling wand, that's not gonna happen.

But, there is one thing I can do. He might not be able to see or hear me, but everyone else can. I'm going to give my all for Peeta and do my best for him tonight. I'm going to do what he would do for me. Pour out my heart to the people of Panem. It's the final eight family interviews and I'm going to be there for Peeta. And this time, I'm not going to mess up.

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><p>The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly. I've switched my mind off Finnick and concentrated on what I'm going to say in the interview and what I'm going to say to my family. They'll be there for the interviews as well, so at last I'll be able to speak to them and tell them I'm alright. I know I'm not, but they don't need to know that; they have enough on their plates at the moment.<p>

A few hours before the interviews begin, I'm called into a private dressing room. I'm seated in a large, leather swivel chair and I'm told to sit and wait. Wait for what exactly?

I do as I'm told and sit in the middle of the room, surrounded by reflective mirrors, dressing tables stained with make up and an extensive wardrobe that takes up a whole quarter of the room. It's pretty packed in here and I except that when I leave this room, I'll look entirely different to the vulnerable girl that's wasting away and sitting, curled up on the chair. It'll take a lot of make up to cover up that.

Five minutes of waiting and the door finally opens. A tall, thin woman strides in, heels clinking on the wooden floor. She pauses for a moment, assessing my appearance I suppose. While she's inspecting me, I inspect her.

She stands about half a foot taller than me, but that's probably the stupidly high heels she's wearing on her skinny feet that adds to her height. She doesn't have much of a figure, as she's mostly just skin and bone. Her skin is decorated in black tattoos of flowers, similar to the designs on the walls, except not gold and fancy, but dark and mysterious. Her face is plastered in make up, mainly black, with the exception of her bright crimson lipstick. Obviously a stylist. Nothing else could explain her look.

She stands, leaning slightly to her left with her hand on her pointed hip. "Stand up, dear"

I nod and stand up, revealing my whole, crippled body. A small gasp escapes her tight lips as I look away from her, feeling ashamed with how I look. I can tell she's feeling the same, although she doesn't show it outside, she must be feeling sick inside. I do look terrible.

"It's alright, dearie. Auntie Queenie will sort you out" She smiles at me, trying to lift my spirits. "Now be a good girl and go sit on that chair in front of the mirror"

I follow her pointing finger over to a large stool that stands in front of a large mirror and dressing table. I take one look at my reflection and quickly turn away. I don't recognise myself at all. My small curves have shrunk, replaced with a pale, bony waist, with matching skinny arms and legs. Under my eyes the skin is saggy and dark and my lips are chapped and pressed together tightly. I won't even get started on my straggled locks. I'm a poor sight

Queenie sees the sadness in my eyes and crouches beside me, resting her thin fingers on my shoulders. "Don't worry, dearest. I'll have you looking gorgeous in no time! The boys will be queuing up outside the doors for you"

I sniff and smile warmly at her. It sounds like an almost impossible job to get me looking half-decent, never mind 'gorgeous', but I sort of believe her. It's just her positive attitude and the determined look in her eyes that make me feel hopeful for the change.

"Now then, let's get started and before you know it, you'll be a walking goddess!"

Only a few hours later and I've completely transformed. The depressed, bag of bones I was before, has been changed into a natural beauty. Well, that's what Queenie says.

My once hairy, dwindling legs have been replaced by a pair of toned, golden ones that make me look elegant and classy. The rest of my skin is no longer pale and ghostly, but a golden colour that almost shimmers in the light. As for my bitten and broken nails, they have been topped with false ones that are coated in a twinkling polish. My hair has been pampered too, and sits comfortably next to my chest line, glossy and loosely curled. The biggest shock I see, is my face. Before, it was a discoloured frown of depression, but now, my skin is radiant and glowing with a smile. All the dark circles have faded and a pale dusting of green eye shadow has taken their place. My cheeks are tinted to give a rosy cheeked effect and my lips are a smooth but vivid shade of red. To match all of this, I wear a smile. Something I haven't seen in a while.

"Oh my gosh dear! You look almost perfect!" Queenie squeals in delight, clapping her hands together, "All that's left is the perfect dress and I have that right here"

She pulls back a loose hanging, velvet curtain and reveals the most stunning dress I have ever lied eyes on. An off-the-shoulder jade green dress, complete with delicate silver detail along the one strap. It's gorgeous.

Queenie makes me put it on straight away, giggling with happiness as it makes the perfect fit. A loose, darker shade of green ribbon cuts across my waist, resting comfortably on my hips. The rest of the dress swishes around my legs and my feet are sitting in a matching pair of emerald heels, finished off with a little sparkle by the toe.

When I twirl in front of the mirror, I almost join Queenie in squealing. I look nothing like my former self, but I look a lot better. Almost attractive. Queenie says I'm being modest, but I think that's just her exaggerating. She's done a fantastic job and I look amazing, but I'm not the sort of person that boasts about appearance. Probably because I've never been pretty like other girls and not had much to boast about.

"Oh come on, give me another twirl dearie!" Queenie requests for about the seventh billion time.

Reluctantly, I give her what she wants and yet again, she squeals in delight. Although the squealing is getting a little repetitive and annoying, I can't help loving her so much. What she's done for me is truly amazing and she deserves a lot in life.

So, to show my appreciation, I go up to her and give her a huge hug, squeezing her thin body tightly and whispering in her ear.

"Thank you so much, Queenie. I love it so so much and you're just the best"

She replies by smiling and patting my shoulder, telling me it's time. Time for the interviews.

* * *

><p>I'm ushered into a large room, filled with loungers, refreshments and above all, many people. I feel a bit nervous as I walk around the room, weaving between people and avoiding Avoxes balancing trays of drinks and snacks. I haven't seen my parents yet, but I'm stopped by someone.<p>

I look behind me and I can see that it was Gale that tapped my shoulder. He's dressed fairly plain in a slightly creased white shirt and black trousers, but he looks very smart. And handsome. His thick, dark hair is in it's usual ruffled style and his eyes are the same, mesmerising deep pools of chocolate brown that I once used to gaze into.

I haven't properly spoken to Gale in a few years. We've said hi and occasionally traded in the Hob, but not had a full conversation since we were about sixteen. Those two years ago, seeming a lifetime ago, we were in love. Well, _I_ thought we were.

Throughout my early high school years, I had always fancied Gale, but with him already popular and me, well not, I never thought he would notice me. And he didn't seem to, until one day when I was on my weekend deliveries...

I'd had my hands full with several large sacks of breads and rolls and couldn't quite manage a few yards without having to pause for a rest. This one day, I had almost given up with the whole lot as the weight had gotten too much for me. (That was when I wasn't as strong, bearing in mind.) So, I remember sitting down on the floor, sweat dripping from my head from the sweltering heat of the summer's day and putting my head in my hands. And when I lifted my head up again, there was Gale, as gorgeous as ever, holding half my load. I had smiled back at him, just managing not to blush and stood up, grabbing the other half of the goods. He then helped me through the whole delivery and when we'd finished, he took me out of the district and to a little lake in the forest beyond. This area was supposed to be out of bounds, but it was clear to me then, that Gale had been there a lot. As of the boiling heat from the sun, we swam in the lake, cooling ourselves down after our hard day's work. It was what happened after, that changed things.

I had just sat down on a log, ringing out my soaked hair and Gale joined me. We sat there for several moments, in silence, when he broke our thoughts by leaning over and kissing me right on the lips. I can still remember it well now; our faces still damp from the lake, his warm hand cupping my chin and his moist lips on mine. It was the best moment of my life. I had finally got my guy. Or so I thought I had.

After that kiss, we started dating and in every spare minute we had, we were together. I was the happiest girl alive. But, as good things never last long for me, our love affair was short lasting. One afternoon, we'd decided to go back to the lake. But, when we arrived, we weren't alone. Gale's new hunting friend, Katniss was there, waiting for him. When she saw me, holding hands with Gale, she thought that I was replacing her role as Gale's best friend. Come to think of it now, I probably was. Anyways, so she just let jealousy take over and basically told Gale it was me or her.

He chose her.

I was heartbroken and I really thought that he loved me. It brings a small tear to my eye now, remembering that he didn't love me at all. He needed Katniss more than he needed me. And I hated him for it. Although, not as much as I hated Katniss. In a few moments, she had taken the best thing I had.

And now, I'm standing with him, two years later. Him seeming the same person he was, but me, an entirely new girl.

"So, you here for Peeta, I presume?" Gale asks me.

"Yup, and you, Katniss?" I reply, a hint of bitterness in my tone when I say her name.

"Yeah" He nods his head, chewing the top of his lip.

A small, uncomfortable silence echoes between us.

"You ok then?" I ask, breaking the silence ad trying to distract myself from flowing thoughts.

"Alright I suppose. What about you?" He says.

"Same really..." I reply.

Fortunately, the awkward conversation between us is cut off, as an announcer calls my name.

"That's me" I turn back to face Gale. "See you round"

"Sure and good luck" He smiles at me.

I nod and walk across the room to the stage door. I pass many weeping parents and friends and I know how they must feel. But, I'm determined not to cry tonight, even if it kills me.

I'm directed through the back of the stage and as I tread over wires, I walk past my parents. My father is holding my mothers hand tightly, whispering something in her ear as they walk straight past me. They don't even pay me any attention, not even a smile. They don't recognise me.

Well, they will after my interview, that's for sure.

* * *

><p>The spotlights on the stage almost blind me as I step onto the shiny, wooden surface. I blink a few times and adjust to them, concentrating on looking confident. I sit down on a long couch opposite Caesar and smile at the audience. <em>This is live, don't mess up. You have one shot at this...<em>

"So, Zinnia, you're Peeta's sister, am I correct?" Caesar asks me, glancing towards the audience.

"Yes, I'm his older sister" I reply, confidently. _So far, so good._

"Ok then, so let's begin with a simple question first, then we'll dig a little deeper" He says, turning his full attention to me, "How well do you and Peeta get on?"

_Phew, an easy question to ease me into this interview stuff_...

"Me and Peeta are very close, I'd like to think. We're only two years apart, so we get on really well. We seem to have a lot in common and he's easy to talk to. I would say that we're as close as siblings can get" I add a little smile to keep friendly with the audience.

"That's always good, except when he gets reaped. Tell us how you felt that day, Zinnia"

"Um, well, let's see. I remember being relieved at first, when I wasn't chosen, but then when Peeta's name was called out, I felt it bad. It was as if I had been chosen and it was a truly awful feeling"

"What did you do when he walked up on that stage to present himself to the rest of the district?"

"I wanted to scream his name and drag him away from it all. I couldn't bear it. I really wanted to volunteer for his place, but I couldn't, being a girl, and I felt like I couldn't be there for him anymore"

"That's understandable, of course. Let's move on to the night of his confession, did you already know about his feelings for Katniss Everdeen?"

"Honestly, no. I was as shocked as everyone else, probably even more than Katniss herself"

"Why so shocked? He must have mentioned her before"

"Nope, he didn't. I didn't even know that he'd noticed her, never mind fall in love with her. It's all a little odd to me"

"How so?"

"Well, he would have told me. I mean, we tell each other everything"

"Everything? You sure about that Zinnia?"

"Urm, yes. I did say that we were very close..."

"I know you're close, but seriously, would you have told Peeta if you were in the same position?"

"Urm, of course, we tell each other-"

"Would _you_?"

Would _I_? Is this question specifically aimed at... _my experience_? No, it can't be.

"I umm, I...I" I stutter, my body shaking slightly. Does he know about Gale? How did he find out? Is this some joke to break me down in front of Panem? Why is he bringing this up now... why?

I stand up, stumbling to my feet, shell-shocked with the realisation of what Caesar was hinting at. Caesar looks at me in confusion, but I know he's just covering up for the camera. Just like everyone else does here. Everything is for the camera and I've just had enough of it. That's why I pick my dress from dragging along the floor and run off the stage, kicking off my heels as I do so.

No one tries to stop me as I push through doors and jump over more wires and head as far away from the stage as possible. My heart is thumping violently, but no tears come this time. I'm too scared of people seeing me cry. That will only make things worse than they already are.

* * *

><p>The door back to the waiting room makes a loud crash as I burst through. Only a few people are still in the room, including my parents, brothers and Gale. And I bet they saw my whole interview. <em>Yay...<em>

Gale's the first to approach me, frowning deeply, "What have you said, Zinny?"

"Nothing." I state firmly, walking past him.

But he grabs my arm and holds me still, "Then what was Caesar on about then?"

"I don't know how he found out. But it wasn't me" I say, struggling to get my arm free.

"You sure about that? Nothing slipped out while you've been living the life of luxury here?" He asks, sarcastically.

"No sorry, I'm quite sure about that. I had more important things to think about, like maybe, hmm... _my brother's life_?" I say back in his face, with the same sarcasm he used.

"Oh, Zinny. I didn't mean it like that" Gale attempts to apologise.

"Whatever, Gale. Just get off my arm and leave me alone" I shrug his grip off my arm and walk over to the sofa where my parents are.

My father is sitting, his arm across my mother's shoulders, comforting her. I can hear little whimpers come from her and I know she's crying about Peeta. Flynn and Freddie glance up at me as I walk over and sit next to mother. I smile at them, but I only receive half-hearted ones back.

I rest my hand on mother's knee, letting her know I'm here. Her head rises up and her clouded blue eyes filled with tears look up to mine.

"Zinny? Is that really you?" She asks, between sobs.

"It's really me, mother. I'm right here" I say softly, tapping her knee for extra proof for her.

"But, the guards... they, they took you away" She says, sniffing.

"I know, but I'm ok, honestly mother, I'm fine" I reply, smiling at her sad face that's damp with tears.

"I was so worried" She says, gripping my hand tightly.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me anymore, I'm taking care of myself. You need to focus on Peeta and yourself" I whisper to her.

She sniffs again and wipes some tears from her eyes, "I know now. Come here my darling, little girl"

I move into her arms and bury my head in her soft scarf. Breathing in her familiar scent reminds me of home and her general touch makes me realise how much I miss our little bakery. The way it always smells of freshly baked loaves and the way there's always floured footprints on the stone floors.

I cling on to her tighter, just like I did when I was younger.

"I love you, mother" I whisper in her ear, quiet so that no one else could hear, but loud enough for her to understand.

"I love you more, Zinnia"

* * *

><p><strong>AN- So that was chapter 8... wooo that was exiting... well maybe... **

**Anyways, if you like the story so far, then please please please read more and REVIEWS are LOVED, :D  
>Chapter 9 will be up in the next few days, then part 1 is almost finished... gasp.<strong>

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	9. The Truth Hurts

**A/N- So, I had quite a bit of spare time last night, so I finished chapter 9! Hurrah.**

**Ok, in this chapter things get a little messy for Zinny... and fairly dramatic! Enjoy**

**Yup, I still haven't stolen Suzanne Collins' identity, therefore I am not the owner of The Hunger Games x**

* * *

><p>Ten minutes. Ten negligible minutes. That was the time I was allowed to speak to my parents. And most of that was filled with sobs and tears, anyways. It was painful, saying goodbye to them when those minutes came to an end and knowing that the next time I see them could be Peeta's funeral. But, that's only the worst case scenario. And it won't come to that.<p>

So, I had ten minutes with my family, before I was marched (literally) back to my room. The Capitol hardly took any notice of me before the interviews, so why suddenly act like I belong to them again?

Whatever suits them, I suppose.

I've re-watched my interview over and over this morning, each time I'm getting more and more frustrated with myself. Could I have made it any more obvious that I was hiding something?_ I think not_. But why couldn't I have just ignored my thoughts and just have pretended nothing had happened?

Because I'm me.

And I mess up everything; this time by running off the stage in a fluster. Now what is everyone going to think. More importantly, what is Snow going to think now? He's probably been waiting for some gossip to turn the tables on. And I've just provided it.

* * *

><p>Later that day, I'm lounging on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, when a solid knock comes from the door.<p>

_Finnick?_

I almost cry out Finnick's name, in the hope that it's him knocking on my door. It probably is him, wanting to make up. Although, he normally calls something through the keyhole to me, but maybe he's still annoyed with me over the kiss. Not that he didn't play a part in this whole mess or anything... It takes two to tango, right?

I practically fly to the door, full of anticipation to see Finnick again. I'm running through what to say in my head. Do I act casual with him? Or angry? Upset? Forgiving? I have no idea, so hopefully things will just flow easily, as they normally do between us.

I hurriedly unlock the door and pull it towards me, expecting to see Finnick waiting for me. To apologise, hug me and tell me that it wasn't my fault. To be the friend I really need right now.

Only, it's not Finnick who stands before me. It's Clara.

My heart drops down about a metre and my shoulders loosen. _It's not him_. Why did I get my hopes up so high? I was almost certain it was going to be him, but then again, I'm not a particularly lucky person, am I? Of course he wouldn't burst through the door and tell me he's sorry. He wouldn't tell me that he made a mistake and wanted to put it all in the past. But, why would he? We kissed and I ran off, who wouldn't feel rejected and humiliated? Hiding away must be his way of dealing with stuff like this.

Clara hands me a note, scrawled on a rough piece of paper, torn at the edges and reeking of sweet perfume. Roses. Snow.

And sure enough, it's a note from Snow, requesting that I meet him in his office, _'pronto'. _Wow, I was beginning to think that he's forgotten about me. I bet this has something to do with last night.

* * *

><p>I knock firmly on the door three times before I'm called in. I enter and almost walk into a large chair, similar to the one Snow's sitting in on the other side of a tall desk that's decorated in papers, files and ink stains. I must admit, I was expecting a room a little bigger than this.<p>

"Do take a seat, Miss Zinnia" Snow gestures at the chair in front of me.

I take it and sit, facing him and prepare myself for a session of patronizing comments, while Snow tries to obtain as much of my information as possible.

"So, this is about the interviews, I'm presuming?" I cut straight to the point, avoiding the awkward introductions. I want this over and done with as quick as possible.

"Partly, yes" He replies, his eyes gleaming with suspicion.

"Partly?" I ask, confused. _What have I done?_

"It plays a part in this jigsaw called your life" He says, his fingers tapping on the desk.

"A jigsaw?" I say in disbelief. _What the hell does that mean? Ugh, I hate metaphors. Why can't people just say what they mean!_

"Yes, a jigsaw. And I believe I have all but one, piece of yours" He declares.

"And that piece is...?" I question him, longing for him to cut to the lecture already.

"Your home" He states, simply.

"My home? You know I live in twelve" I say back to him, still so confused.

"You may do now, but is that your _true_ home, Miss Zinnia?" He asks, leaning further forwards in his chair.

"Uh, yes. I've lived there all my life, I think I would know my own home" I reply.

"Are you sure about that?" He asks again.

I stand up, my hands slamming down on the desk dramatically.

"Will you just stop with the irrelevant questions already? I know where I live and could you just cut to the chase before I leave?"

Snow claps his hands together, seeming impressed for some reason. "Oh, don't you sound exactly like your father?"

_What?_

"Firstly, you don't even know my father and secondly, I do not!" I retort back to his smug face.

"I think you'll find that I _do_ know your father, very well indeed. And, you have his feistiness and independence without a shadow of a doubt" He says, still grinning.

"My father is feisty in the slightest! He's always letting my mother have her own way without giving much of a fight. You don't know what you're talking about, Mr President" I claim.

"Well, Miss_ Mellark... _I think you will learn soon enough that I know a lot more than you do" He replies, standing up too.

He's taller than me, but that doesn't intimidate me at all. He may scare everyone else, but he doesn't scare me. He's just a twisted old man with a talent for messing up people's lives. I've been a victim of this, but they all say: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And I haven't given up yet. Not for a long shot.

"Start talking" I grit my teeth at him, showing that I'm not scared of him.

He sits down again and nods for me to do the same. I do and he starts to speak.

"Last night, me and my colleague made some observations..." He begins.

"Observations of what?" I ask, willing for him to carry on.

"Observations of your family" He pauses, waiting for my reaction.

"My _family_?" I ask.

"Handsome lads, you're brothers are, with their father's build, but their mother's eyes and hair. Peeta especially, is a younger, male copy of your mother" He stops again.

"And?"

"And, then there's you. With you're piercing green eyes and lovely, auburn hair..." He continues, looking in to my eyes.

"My father had my colour hair when he was younger if that's-" I begin.

"No, Zinnia, he didn't. How could a man of his casting have possibly had red hair at a young age?" He questions.

"Um.. he.." I stutter, unable to answer his question.

"Exactly. It's a lie. There is no way that you could look like you do without an explanation" He says.

"What are you saying?" I ask, angry with his last words.

"What I'm saying is this: your _'parents'_ are not your parents" He says simply. No metaphors. Nothing.

"You're lying. I know we look different, but they're definitely my parents" I say back.

"Maybe so, but they're not your blood-related parents. Your _'mother' _didn't give birth to you" He says.

"Stop it! STOP IT! I don't know what game you're playing, but it ends now." I yell back at him, fists clenched tightly.

"There's no game, Zinnia. You're in denial with yourself. Deep down, you know that they're not your real family" Snow tries to manipulate me.

"Yes they are! You have no proof that they're not!" I'm almost screaming at him now.

He can't be doing this to me. He might have taken Peeta, but trying to convince me that I have no family is just over-stepping the line. I won't let him, though. I won't give in to his mind games.

"Oh, but I do have proof" He points to the door in the corner of the room, just to his left.

As he says those words, the door opens and a man in his rough late forties, maybe even fifties walks in. He's tall, with mid brown closely cropped hair, a slight stubble on his jaw. He's also well groomed, dressed in an immaculate red suit and tie. When he turns his head towards me, the first things I notice are his eyes. Piercing green.

I'm frozen to the spot, reeling from what I just saw. No matter how hard I pinch myself, I don't wake up. This is not a dream. This is really happening.

Snow introduces the man as Monroe, his friend and colleague. It's only when I begin to breathe again, that I realise I recognise his name.

_Monroe. _Scenes flash through my mind; me and Finnick sitting on the roof. Talking and sharing secrets. Him, revealing his past... his past about being used sexually for women. And the man that started it all, forcing him into it all... his name was Monroe. He was a friend of Snow. And he's standing right before me now.

The words I dread follow next, as Snow turns to me.

"Monroe, is your father"

* * *

><p>"No!" I scream at them, my blood boiling and my body shaking uncontrollably.<p>

"Zinnia, calm down a minute. Let me explain" Monroe tries to stop my rage.

"Don't tell me to _calm down_!" I shout back at him, eyes flaring wildly.

Snow comes behind me and holds me down in the chair, forcing my body to settle a little.

"Now, Zinnia. Just listen before you do something you'll regret" Snow whispers in my ear, threateningly.

I don't reply, I just squeeze my fists tighter together, releasing a soreness in my strained fingers. I guess I have no choice but to hear him out and see what stupid story he comes up with.

Monroe takes a seat opposite me and begins to 'explain'.

"Ok, Zinnia. About nineteen years ago, this younger girl used to follow me around, obviously crushing on me badly. Anyways, one night I gave in to her advantages and slept with her. Only the once, as I instantly regretted it afterwards... as did she. So, after that night, I didn't see or hear from her at all, but honestly, that didn't bother me. I liked to have my privacy back, after all" He takes a quick breath, then launches into the next part of the story.

"It was then, after a year or so, that I heard the news that her body had been found, dead. She had hung herself, the reasoning was said to be from depression. It was only after speaking to some family and friends, that I found out that the end product of our affair was... you." He stops again, focusing on me.

"At first, I didn't really care. But then, I realised that I had a child. Me, a father. So, I tried to find you, but I discovered that she had hidden you on a train to one of the districts, as she couldn't cope. She was way too young to care for a child. However, the guilt took over her and she ended up killing herself because of it..."

I take in a deep breath, "But why didn't you find me?"

"Honestly, I thought you'd be better off with another family somewhere away from the Capitol"

"So, you just forgot that you had a daughter then?"

"Well, kind of, yes. It wasn't until I saw you with your _'family'_ that I realised that you weren't theirs. I pieced things together and Snow and I saw that you were obviously mine"

"So you saw that I had eyes like yours and just presumed that I was your daughter?"

"No. It wasn't just that. When I saw you, I saw your mother. I saw her long swishing red hair and her feisty look in your eyes. I just knew" Monroe sighs deeply, if not, a little falsely.

"Ok, look, Monroe. I don't care if you grew up an orphan with no friends or whatever, You. Are. Not. My. Father." I say finally, not falling for the sob story. As I've mentioned before, they don't bother me.

"I know it must all be a bit of a shock to you, but we can sort things out" Monroe promises.

"No, we can't. My parents are back in District 12 and even if they're not blood-related, then they're more my parents than you'll ever be" I say, putting him straight.

"Blood is thicker than water" He replies.

"_Being_ there for someone is better than not even _knowing_ them" I snap back.

"It wasn't my fault" He tries to redeem himself with the whole 'oh woe is me' act. Not falling for that one, _'papa'._

"Oh, like it wasn't your fault when Finnick was turned into a sexual slave?" I suddenly say, before I can stop myself.

"What? How did you-" He begins, looking anxiously at Snow.

"That's right. Busted" I sneer in his pathetic face.

Instead of grovelling for my forgiveness, which part of me really wishes for him to do, his face turns. His expression changes into a sly grin, his eyes slits and his teeth gritted. I can almost hear his heart beating furiously and the veins in his arms virtually pop out from the skin.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Missy. If I were you, I'd stay in my good books, _daughter_" He says in a gruff voice that's meant to intimidate me.

I know he's a dangerous man, but I'm already stepping on eggshells here. One word out of place could turn his temper badly, ending up with consequences for the receiving end. But, he wouldn't dare to hit me, after all, I am his _'daughter'. _

"I'm no daughter of yours" I spit back in his face and give him one piercing look with my eyes.

I then turn and run.

* * *

><p>I'm opening the door to my room, fighting back tears that dare to spark out and fall down my face. As I pushing it open, I'm stopped by someone calling my name. My first guess would be Monroe or Snow, chasing after me. But the voice doesn't belong to either of them. It belongs to a certain charming, bronze-haired victor.<p>

"Zinny! Wait!" Finnick calls down the corridor to me, a slight hint of desperation in his voice.

I spin around and see him running down the corridor towards me. It doesn't take long for him to reach me and I feel so relieved to have him with me again.

"Finnick? I thought you were avoiding me" I say to him.

"Um... Well... We'll talk about that after" He grips my arms, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing" I turn my head away from him.

"No, Zinny it's not nothing. I saw you running away from Snow's office. What has he done?" He persists and I'm kind of glad he does, as it shows that he still cares for me.

"He told me something..." I trail off, unable to finish my sentence. It hurts too much right now.

"What did he say?" He asks, "Zinny, what did he tell you?" He asks again when I don't answer.

"He... he said that... my parents... aren't... my um... real parents..." I stammer, my bottom lip trembling.

"But you know that's not true" He says, trying to keep me positive.

"No, Finnick. It is true... I was... I was, abandoned..." I reply, most of my body trembling now.

"Then who are your real parents?" He asks.

"My mother is dead... but my father..." I start to explain, but I don't think I can tell him about Monroe.

"Your father..." He begins for me, urging me to speak out.

"My father is Monroe" I speak straight out. No stammering this time. Just the words he needs to know.

Finnick's face goes pale when I mention his name. His hands release their grip on my arms and his eyes avert from mine. I can hear him breathing heavily, processing the news.

"Finnick..." I start, reaching out for him. But he pushes my arm away and refuses to look at me.

"I thought you were different" He mutters under his breath, but I manage to hear.

"Finnick, I am different" I try to reason with him, but he's not listening.

"No... you're worse" He says, is voice turning bitter.

"No Finnick, that's not me" I say, tears welling up in my eyes.

"You're part of _him_. His blood runs through _your _veins" He replies, really bitter now.

"Finnick, please don't do this to me. You know me" I'm almost crying now. This can't happen.

"No, I don't know you" He says firmly and turns around, his back to me.

He doesn't look back as he walks away from me. His head is positioned downwards, focusing on the floor as he gets further away. I call his name a few times, but he doesn't stir. There's no point chasing after him now, I'll only make things worse. He won't listen to me anymore. Whenever he looks at me, he'll see Monroe. I can't do that to him. No matter how much I talk to him and try to show him that I'm nothing like Monroe, it won't change a thing. To him, I'm Monroe and it's unfair...but it's true.

Monroe is part of me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- Dun dun duuuunnn... you weren't expecting that? Ok, perhaps you were if you're a detective, but you probably aren't.**

**Ok, so things are getting a little tense now and there's only 3 chapters left for part uno! So please keep reading and reviewing if you want more x**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	10. The Compromise

**A/N- So, I had quite a bit of spare time last night, so I finished chapter 9! Hurrah.**

**Ok, in this chapter things get a little messy for Zinny... and fairly dramatic! Enjoy**

**Yup, I still haven't stolen Suzanne Collins' identity, therefore I am not the owner of The Hunger Games x**

* * *

><p>Ten minutes. Ten negligible minutes. That was the time I was allowed to speak to my parents. And most of that was filled with sobs and tears, anyways. It was painful, saying goodbye to them when those minutes came to an end and knowing that the next time I see them could be Peeta's funeral. But, that's only the worst case scenario. And it won't come to that.<p>

So, I had ten minutes with my family, before I was marched (literally) back to my room. The Capitol hardly took any notice of me before the interviews, so why suddenly act like I belong to them again?

Whatever suits them, I suppose.

I've re-watched my interview over and over this morning, each time I'm getting more and more frustrated with myself. Could I have made it any more obvious that I was hiding something?_ I think not_. But why couldn't I have just ignored my thoughts and just have pretended nothing had happened?

Because I'm me.

And I mess up everything; this time by running off the stage in a fluster. Now what is everyone going to think. More importantly, what is Snow going to think now? He's probably been waiting for some gossip to turn the tables on. And I've just provided it.

* * *

><p>Later that day, I'm lounging on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, when a solid knock comes from the door.<p>

_Finnick?_

I almost cry out Finnick's name, in the hope that it's him knocking on my door. It probably is him, wanting to make up. Although, he normally calls something through the keyhole to me, but maybe he's still annoyed with me over the kiss. Not that he didn't play a part in this whole mess or anything... It takes two to tango, right?

I practically fly to the door, full of anticipation to see Finnick again. I'm running through what to say in my head. Do I act casual with him? Or angry? Upset? Forgiving? I have no idea, so hopefully things will just flow easily, as they normally do between us.

I hurriedly unlock the door and pull it towards me, expecting to see Finnick waiting for me. To apologise, hug me and tell me that it wasn't my fault. To be the friend I really need right now.

Only, it's not Finnick who stands before me. It's Clara.

My heart drops down about a metre and my shoulders loosen. _It's not him_. Why did I get my hopes up so high? I was almost certain it was going to be him, but then again, I'm not a particularly lucky person, am I? Of course he wouldn't burst through the door and tell me he's sorry. He wouldn't tell me that he made a mistake and wanted to put it all in the past. But, why would he? We kissed and I ran off, who wouldn't feel rejected and humiliated? Hiding away must be his way of dealing with stuff like this.

Clara hands me a note, scrawled on a rough piece of paper, torn at the edges and reeking of sweet perfume. Roses. Snow.

And sure enough, it's a note from Snow, requesting that I meet him in his office, _'pronto'. _Wow, I was beginning to think that he's forgotten about me. I bet this has something to do with last night.

* * *

><p>I knock firmly on the door three times before I'm called in. I enter and almost walk into a large chair, similar to the one Snow's sitting in on the other side of a tall desk that's decorated in papers, files and ink stains. I must admit, I was expecting a room a little bigger than this.<p>

"Do take a seat, Miss Zinnia" Snow gestures at the chair in front of me.

I take it and sit, facing him and prepare myself for a session of patronizing comments, while Snow tries to obtain as much of my information as possible.

"So, this is about the interviews, I'm presuming?" I cut straight to the point, avoiding the awkward introductions. I want this over and done with as quick as possible.

"Partly, yes" He replies, his eyes gleaming with suspicion.

"Partly?" I ask, confused. _What have I done?_

"It plays a part in this jigsaw called your life" He says, his fingers tapping on the desk.

"A jigsaw?" I say in disbelief. _What the hell does that mean? Ugh, I hate metaphors. Why can't people just say what they mean!_

"Yes, a jigsaw. And I believe I have all but one, piece of yours" He declares.

"And that piece is...?" I question him, longing for him to cut to the lecture already.

"Your home" He states, simply.

"My home? You know I live in twelve" I say back to him, still so confused.

"You may do now, but is that your _true_ home, Miss Zinnia?" He asks, leaning further forwards in his chair.

"Uh, yes. I've lived there all my life, I think I would know my own home" I reply.

"Are you sure about that?" He asks again.

I stand up, my hands slamming down on the desk dramatically.

"Will you just stop with the irrelevant questions already? I know where I live and could you just cut to the chase before I leave?"

Snow claps his hands together, seeming impressed for some reason. "Oh, don't you sound exactly like your father?"

_What?_

"Firstly, you don't even know my father and secondly, I do not!" I retort back to his smug face.

"I think you'll find that I _do_ know your father, very well indeed. And, you have his feistiness and independence without a shadow of a doubt" He says, still grinning.

"My father is feisty in the slightest! He's always letting my mother have her own way without giving much of a fight. You don't know what you're talking about, Mr President" I claim.

"Well, Miss_ Mellark... _I think you will learn soon enough that I know a lot more than you do" He replies, standing up too.

He's taller than me, but that doesn't intimidate me at all. He may scare everyone else, but he doesn't scare me. He's just a twisted old man with a talent for messing up people's lives. I've been a victim of this, but they all say: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And I haven't given up yet. Not for a long shot.

"Start talking" I grit my teeth at him, showing that I'm not scared of him.

He sits down again and nods for me to do the same. I do and he starts to speak.

"Last night, me and my colleague made some observations..." He begins.

"Observations of what?" I ask, willing for him to carry on.

"Observations of your family" He pauses, waiting for my reaction.

"My _family_?" I ask.

"Handsome lads, you're brothers are, with their father's build, but their mother's eyes and hair. Peeta especially, is a younger, male copy of your mother" He stops again.

"And?"

"And, then there's you. With you're piercing green eyes and lovely, auburn hair..." He continues, looking in to my eyes.

"My father had my colour hair when he was younger if that's-" I begin.

"No, Zinnia, he didn't. How could a man of his casting have possibly had red hair at a young age?" He questions.

"Um.. he.." I stutter, unable to answer his question.

"Exactly. It's a lie. There is no way that you could look like you do without an explanation" He says.

"What are you saying?" I ask, angry with his last words.

"What I'm saying is this: your _'parents'_ are not your parents" He says simply. No metaphors. Nothing.

"You're lying. I know we look different, but they're definitely my parents" I say back.

"Maybe so, but they're not your blood-related parents. Your _'mother' _didn't give birth to you" He says.

"Stop it! STOP IT! I don't know what game you're playing, but it ends now." I yell back at him, fists clenched tightly.

"There's no game, Zinnia. You're in denial with yourself. Deep down, you know that they're not your real family" Snow tries to manipulate me.

"Yes they are! You have no proof that they're not!" I'm almost screaming at him now.

He can't be doing this to me. He might have taken Peeta, but trying to convince me that I have no family is just over-stepping the line. I won't let him, though. I won't give in to his mind games.

"Oh, but I do have proof" He points to the door in the corner of the room, just to his left.

As he says those words, the door opens and a man in his rough late forties, maybe even fifties walks in. He's tall, with mid brown closely cropped hair, a slight stubble on his jaw. He's also well groomed, dressed in an immaculate red suit and tie. When he turns his head towards me, the first things I notice are his eyes. Piercing green.

I'm frozen to the spot, reeling from what I just saw. No matter how hard I pinch myself, I don't wake up. This is not a dream. This is really happening.

Snow introduces the man as Monroe, his friend and colleague. It's only when I begin to breathe again, that I realise I recognise his name.

_Monroe. _Scenes flash through my mind; me and Finnick sitting on the roof. Talking and sharing secrets. Him, revealing his past... his past about being used sexually for women. And the man that started it all, forcing him into it all... his name was Monroe. He was a friend of Snow. And he's standing right before me now.

The words I dread follow next, as Snow turns to me.

"Monroe, is your father"

* * *

><p>"No!" I scream at them, my blood boiling and my body shaking uncontrollably.<p>

"Zinnia, calm down a minute. Let me explain" Monroe tries to stop my rage.

"Don't tell me to _calm down_!" I shout back at him, eyes flaring wildly.

Snow comes behind me and holds me down in the chair, forcing my body to settle a little.

"Now, Zinnia. Just listen before you do something you'll regret" Snow whispers in my ear, threateningly.

I don't reply, I just squeeze my fists tighter together, releasing a soreness in my strained fingers. I guess I have no choice but to hear him out and see what stupid story he comes up with.

Monroe takes a seat opposite me and begins to 'explain'.

"Ok, Zinnia. About nineteen years ago, this younger girl used to follow me around, obviously crushing on me badly. Anyways, one night I gave in to her advantages and slept with her. Only the once, as I instantly regretted it afterwards... as did she. So, after that night, I didn't see or hear from her at all, but honestly, that didn't bother me. I liked to have my privacy back, after all" He takes a quick breath, then launches into the next part of the story.

"It was then, after a year or so, that I heard the news that her body had been found, dead. She had hung herself, the reasoning was said to be from depression. It was only after speaking to some family and friends, that I found out that the end product of our affair was... you." He stops again, focusing on me.

"At first, I didn't really care. But then, I realised that I had a child. Me, a father. So, I tried to find you, but I discovered that she had hidden you on a train to one of the districts, as she couldn't cope. She was way too young to care for a child. However, the guilt took over her and she ended up killing herself because of it..."

I take in a deep breath, "But why didn't you find me?"

"Honestly, I thought you'd be better off with another family somewhere away from the Capitol"

"So, you just forgot that you had a daughter then?"

"Well, kind of, yes. It wasn't until I saw you with your _'family'_ that I realised that you weren't theirs. I pieced things together and Snow and I saw that you were obviously mine"

"So you saw that I had eyes like yours and just presumed that I was your daughter?"

"No. It wasn't just that. When I saw you, I saw your mother. I saw her long swishing red hair and her feisty look in your eyes. I just knew" Monroe sighs deeply, if not, a little falsely.

"Ok, look, Monroe. I don't care if you grew up an orphan with no friends or whatever, You. Are. Not. My. Father." I say finally, not falling for the sob story. As I've mentioned before, they don't bother me.

"I know it must all be a bit of a shock to you, but we can sort things out" Monroe promises.

"No, we can't. My parents are back in District 12 and even if they're not blood-related, then they're more my parents than you'll ever be" I say, putting him straight.

"Blood is thicker than water" He replies.

"_Being_ there for someone is better than not even _knowing_ them" I snap back.

"It wasn't my fault" He tries to redeem himself with the whole 'oh woe is me' act. Not falling for that one, _'papa'._

"Oh, like it wasn't your fault when Finnick was turned into a sexual slave?" I suddenly say, before I can stop myself.

"What? How did you-" He begins, looking anxiously at Snow.

"That's right. Busted" I sneer in his pathetic face.

Instead of grovelling for my forgiveness, which part of me really wishes for him to do, his face turns. His expression changes into a sly grin, his eyes slits and his teeth gritted. I can almost hear his heart beating furiously and the veins in his arms virtually pop out from the skin.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Missy. If I were you, I'd stay in my good books, _daughter_" He says in a gruff voice that's meant to intimidate me.

I know he's a dangerous man, but I'm already stepping on eggshells here. One word out of place could turn his temper badly, ending up with consequences for the receiving end. But, he wouldn't dare to hit me, after all, I am his _'daughter'. _

"I'm no daughter of yours" I spit back in his face and give him one piercing look with my eyes.

I then turn and run.

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><p>I'm opening the door to my room, fighting back tears that dare to spark out and fall down my face. As I pushing it open, I'm stopped by someone calling my name. My first guess would be Monroe or Snow, chasing after me. But the voice doesn't belong to either of them. It belongs to a certain charming, bronze-haired victor.<p>

"Zinny! Wait!" Finnick calls down the corridor to me, a slight hint of desperation in his voice.

I spin around and see him running down the corridor towards me. It doesn't take long for him to reach me and I feel so relieved to have him with me again.

"Finnick? I thought you were avoiding me" I say to him.

"Um... Well... We'll talk about that after" He grips my arms, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing" I turn my head away from him.

"No, Zinny it's not nothing. I saw you running away from Snow's office. What has he done?" He persists and I'm kind of glad he does, as it shows that he still cares for me.

"He told me something..." I trail off, unable to finish my sentence. It hurts too much right now.

"What did he say?" He asks, "Zinny, what did he tell you?" He asks again when I don't answer.

"He... he said that... my parents... aren't... my um... real parents..." I stammer, my bottom lip trembling.

"But you know that's not true" He says, trying to keep me positive.

"No, Finnick. It is true... I was... I was, abandoned..." I reply, most of my body trembling now.

"Then who are your real parents?" He asks.

"My mother is dead... but my father..." I start to explain, but I don't think I can tell him about Monroe.

"Your father..." He begins for me, urging me to speak out.

"My father is Monroe" I speak straight out. No stammering this time. Just the words he needs to know.

Finnick's face goes pale when I mention his name. His hands release their grip on my arms and his eyes avert from mine. I can hear him breathing heavily, processing the news.

"Finnick..." I start, reaching out for him. But he pushes my arm away and refuses to look at me.

"I thought you were different" He mutters under his breath, but I manage to hear.

"Finnick, I am different" I try to reason with him, but he's not listening.

"No... you're worse" He says, is voice turning bitter.

"No Finnick, that's not me" I say, tears welling up in my eyes.

"You're part of _him_. His blood runs through _your _veins" He replies, really bitter now.

"Finnick, please don't do this to me. You know me" I'm almost crying now. This can't happen.

"No, I don't know you" He says firmly and turns around, his back to me.

He doesn't look back as he walks away from me. His head is positioned downwards, focusing on the floor as he gets further away. I call his name a few times, but he doesn't stir. There's no point chasing after him now, I'll only make things worse. He won't listen to me anymore. Whenever he looks at me, he'll see Monroe. I can't do that to him. No matter how much I talk to him and try to show him that I'm nothing like Monroe, it won't change a thing. To him, I'm Monroe and it's unfair...but it's true.

Monroe is part of me.

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><p><strong>AN- Dun dun duuuunnn... you weren't expecting that? Ok, perhaps you were if you're a detective, but you probably aren't.**

**Ok, so things are getting a little tense now and there's only 3 chapters left for part uno! So please keep reading and reviewing if you want more x**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	11. My Suffering never quite stops

**A/N- Ok hello again people! I have finally finished chapter 5! **

**Before I continue, I would just like to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed- I love you and keep doing it please x  
>And a special thanks to my friend (who's name won't stay here for stupid reasons) who has helped me a lot with this by reading it through before I post it and making me post it! Thanks you x<strong>

**Without further comments, let me give you... chapter 5! **

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><p>When I wake the next morning, I feel drained. Not only am I fatigued, I am famished as well. I sit up in the bed and lean against the headboard. My head is pulsating and if it weren't for the fact that I'm practically dying of hunger, I would seriously contemplate going back to sleep. Regardless of the time.<p>

After a while, I decide I'm stable and drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The sensor goes off and a blinding light brightens the room. I squint my eyes to avoid sudden blindness until they finally adjust to the light.

I look into the mirror. Staring straight back, I see a girl who looks as if she's been washed up on a desert island. Her hair hangs limp; strands twisted and mangled together. Her eyes, bloodshot and encircled with dark shadows. The rest of her face, pale and mournful. She's a mess, both outside and within. I understand why... because I'm looking at myself. The girl I see in the mirror, is none other than my reflection. And I hate it.

Still wearing the dress from last night, I strip it off and throw it on the toilet seat. The rest of my underwear follows shortly, then the shower clicks on and I spring into action. I've selected 'Power Wash' and now, water is being pumped out at a phenomenal speed. It hits my body hard, but it feels good. The sensation of pounding on my back wakes me up and get's me thinking straight.

Once the session times out, I step out the shower and rub myself dry. With the towel wrapped as some sort of a dress, I walk back into the bedroom. I'm just on my way to the wardrobe when I spot something left on the table. I go over and see a silver tray, stacked with pastries and a large pot, rising with steam. I guess they've left me breakfast.

Wasting no time in thinking about the reasoning behind the food, after what happened yesterday, I sit myself down on the sofa in front of this small feast. I grab the nearest pastry and sink my teeth into it, taste buds going wild as the warm taste of melted butter trickles down my throat. It's not long before I'm trying the next pastry. This time, a dark brown sauce, with a rich taste, oozes out the middle of the pastry. I think it's chocolate.

We had chocolate once at the bakery and used it to make these special cakes for a wedding. It was simply delicious. The smooth texture felt soothing on your tongue, not to mention the taste! In my opinion, we should have made cakes like that forever after the wedding, but it was put clear to a younger me, that we were only having it once. I remember, as only a nine year old, that I vowed I would have chocolate again one day. And here I am, keeping my promise.

Several minutes later and I've gotten through the whole plate of pastries. Normally, with food of this quality, I would savour each moment of eating it, however, my ravenous hunger took over and I consumed them all so quickly, I almost forgot to breathe. You can't blame me; I haven't eaten in a while. A long while.

My hunger is replenished, so I move on to the large steaming pot. I lift up the lid and peer inside. A dark, very hot liquid is contained and I pour some out into a mug. Holding it up to my nose, I can tell it's tea. Not like the weak, lukewarm, leafy water we have at home, but rich, strong and steaming. Despite the boiling temperature, I gulp down the first mug and pour myself another. I end up finishing the whole pot, then take a deep breath and sigh. The warmness I now feel in my body is comforting and my mind feels refreshed again.

Now that I'm washed and fed, I think it's time to get dressed and face up to the day ahead.

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><p>When I open the wardrobe, instead of seeing the bare wood inside that part of me expects, I'm greeted by an abundance of brightly coloured garments. I pull them out one by one; skirts, tops, dresses, jackets, everything. With each item, I can see that they must be originals, as the designs look so complicated and finely crafted, you couldn't possibly make a large number of them. Well, I suppose the Capitol could. They seem to be able to do everything. Pfft.<p>

Once I've emptied the whole wardrobe, I look over every item on my bed, deciding on which one to wear. Most of them are too fancy for everyday, better for evening meals or parties. Still, even the less formal ones are fancier than anything I've seen back home. In the end, I settle for a simple, grey dress. It hangs just below my knees and swishes whenever I turn. The skirt of the dress is plain, but the bodice is wildly decorated in embroided patterns of flowers. The dress itself is sleeveless, exposing my arms and just above my chest. So, I grab a thin, black shrug and head out the door, locking it behind me. Not that I need to. People always seem to get it and out, leaving me little 'gifts'. Pfft.

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><p>The corridors are long and endless. When I reach the end of one, it just leads to another and I swear I've been walking in circles for the past hour or so. Wandering aimlessly along identical corridors for at least an hour and I'm still not remotely anywhere near where I should be heading. If I even knew where I was heading...<p>

Just thinking about it now... I have no idea where I want to be. Never mind getting there. Another strange thing is that, I haven't even seen another person. Wow, I must be going in circles. I am well and truly lost.

Well, lost until I see a hidden staircase behind a plant.

_Aha, genius.. ok, not really. I must have missed it hundreds of times...oh well, I've found it now._

I don't even think about what might be down them, all I want is to get out of this stupid corridor that imprisons me. Practically running down the stairs causes me to twist my ankle a little. Ouch.

When I step, more like leap, off the last stair, I can see my whereabouts much better.

I've seemed to have walked into a main corridor. I can tell from the size of it and the amount of people rushing down it. It must be at least the width of five houses the size of the ones in 12. But, I can say it's a lot busier.

People in white uniforms march down the corridor, Avoxes scurry down carrying plates of all sorts, general people of the Capitol dressed in outrageous costumes also totter down and then, there's me.

Inside, I feel nervous, like someone is going to recognise me and lock me away. But outside, no one seems to notice me. Surprising, seeing that I'm just standing there awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, but good, as I'm not really in the situation where I'd want to be seen.

Deliberately, I start walking in the opposite direction of the main flow of people. I receive a few puzzled looks from some people, but no one approaches me directly. I just avoid any eye contact and make my way down the building.

I pass rooms of all sorts, ranging from kitchens to spas and every other type of room you could ever imagine. This corridor seems even more endless than the one upstairs, trailing on forever and ever, but never quite coming to an end. The further I go, the less busy the walkway gets. Less people running about frantically, checking watches. Less noise and bodies to bump into. Less eyes to see me. But, more empty spaces for me to wander aimlessly through.

I'm really starting to get tired from getting nowhere, when I see it. By it, I mean a door. But, this door isn't a regular door with gold doorknobs and a gold plate, labelling the room behind. This door is tall, very heavy looking and made of metal. A panel full of buttons is attached to the wall beside it. A room only accessible if you know the combination to unlock the bolted door. Unless, it hasn't been closed properly and is slightly ajar. Just like it is now.

The door is heavy, but the gap is big enough for me to squeeze through. It's a bit tight, but curiosity forces me through it. Once I've passed through the gap, I exhale a sigh of relief. Then, I turn to see what I've just walked into.

* * *

><p>I've walked into yet another large corridor. However, this time, instead of stretching out in front of me, it leads off to both sides of me. I seem to be in the middle. <em>Fabulous... where the hell do I go now?<em>

I decide to go right, just as a small group of men in white uniforms march past. Luckily for me, there's a big wooden box beside me, so I duck behind it and watch them parade down the rest of the corridor. That was a little too close for my liking. Maybe I should keep low.

As I continue down the corridor, I keep myself shielded behind boxes that line the edges of the walls. The other side looks pretty much the same as the one I'm on now, except I see yet another door. This time it's a double door, labelled with 'Training Room'. I'm just about to ignore it, as I do to other doors, but something strikes me. This must be the training room for the tributes. Therefore, Peeta must be in there.

I need to get over to that door.

Of course, the simple plan of going over and opening the door is almost impossible to even think about carrying out. There is no way I can just walk in there without causing any trouble. Annoyingly, I must obey the Capitol's rules and take notice of the 'No Entry' sign next to the door. But, I'm not giving up that easily. I'll just find another way in...ok, maybe not in. Maybe just somewhere to look in. Yeah, that sounds the safer option.

I walk down the corridor, still hiding behind boxes. So far, there's been no luck in finding a way to see what's going on inside that room. No luck until I spot a window, just a few more metres away.

Practically sprinting, I get opposite the window, check to see if it's all clear and bolt across the corridor. I'm now face-to-face with the window and eagerly, I peer inside.

A small gasp escapes my mouth from the sight I see. All twenty four tributes are in there, all equipped with weapons. Several are throwing knives at a dummy. Others, hand-to-hand combat. There are loads of different stations, each one specialising in a different tactic. No wonder the tributes in previous years are so good at fighting. The training they receive is fantastic!

I'm frantically searching for Peeta, hoping that I don't see anything to awful. However, all I see are mainly, the Careers, showing off with their fancy skills and knowledge of kiling techniques. That's just typical Career though.

I'm about to give up when at last I spot him. He's standing in the far corner of the room, throwing some massive objects that must weigh a ton. I can see his muscles flexing as he swings his arm around, releasing the objects. They soar through the air, landing quite a way in front of him. It's an amazing sigh to see.

Wow, I knew he was strong. But, not _that_ strong.

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><p>I'm transfixed, just in awe with Peeta's skills that I'm oblivious to anything occuring on my side of the glass. Just watching him, training to kill, it's just... wrong. I've barely accepted the fact that he was reaped, but now seeing him practicing killing techniques really brings me back to reality. Peeta is in there, learning how to kill to save his life. He will only have a few days of this training, before he's thrust into an arena to fight for his life, while Snow and the rest of Panem sit comfortably in front of TV screens, watching him suffer. Probably watching him thought releases a single tear from my eye, that slides down my cheek.<p>

My hand reaches up to wipe away the dampness on my cheek, when another hand is placed firmly on my shoulder.

My head whips around and my eyes meet a pair of sea green ones. _Finnick._

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" I yell at him, punching his right arm.

"I hardly snuck up on you, Zinny. You were off in a dream world anyway" He says, rubbing his arm slightly. _Pfft, wimp._

"I was not!" I retort back at him.

He doesn't retaliate to my denial, he just laughs, shaking his head a little. "Oh you're so sensitive, baker girl"

"Don't call me that!" I snap back.

"Ok, ok. Calm yourself, it was just a jokey nickname" He says, his hands in held in front of him in a 'let's make peace' gesture.

I sigh, knowing now that I overreacted. God, I'm doing a lot of that lately. Hmm, I blame it on hormones. Actually, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my little brother is about to thrown into a pit of goodness knows what, killing to avoid being killed. Perchance.

"Look, Finnick, I'm sorry. I was just.. oh, I dunno..." I apologise to him, but never quite manage to get out how I felt.

"...Upset?" He offers.

"Yeah, I suppose" I shrug back. "Sorry for being upset all the time"

"It's ok, you're entitled to show your emotions" He says.

_What?_

For a second I can't speak. I can't move. I can't think. All I can hear is Peeta's voice telling me, _'you're entitled to show your emotions'. _They were the last words he said to me. The last words he spoke, directly to me, before I started screaming about the Capitol and never spoke to him again. His last words of truth to me. Yet, I had cast them aside and ignored them, not knowing that they would be the last words we could share. I let them pass. But now, they've resurfaced, but this time, not said by Peeta.

Images flash through my mind, colliding with one another, forming new ones. There's Peeta and me in the bakery, him with a frosting-covered nose, and me, laughing at him. This joyful image passes, revealing a new one from my past. This time, I see a younger Peeta trying to build a snowman in the freshly layered snow. His hands are blue from holding the cold snow, but he keeps building, adding handfuls of snow to the lopsided snowman.

The memories keep on coming, one after another, every one of Peeta. His first day of high school, dressed in father's old shirt and faded trousers; playing with the flat ball against the back wall of the bakery, then being told off by our parents; making up stories and acting them out, whilst shading under the tree at the bottom of the garden. Then, I see the reaping and Peeta being chosen, and the look on his face as he stepped up to his fate. This soon fades out into our last conversation and the last words he ever said to me; that Finnick has just said. Finally, ending with the image of Peeta training in the Training Room...

"Zinny? What's wrong? Have I said something?" Finnick's worried voice wakes me from my flashbacks.

"Oh, erm, what?" I stammer, still dazed from what I just saw in my mind.

"You suddenly went all quiet and weird. Like you were in a dream world again" His eyes look worryingly into mine.

"I, erm... I think I just had a flashback" I manage to say back to him.

"A flashback? Of what?" His eyes grow wide as he questions me.

"Peeta" I reply.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Everything. There were bits from when we were younger, ageing up to the reaping, then the last words he ever said to me..." I say, not quite finishing the sentence.

"Were, '_your entitled to show your emotions'_..." He finishes for me.

I give a small nod and look up to him. He holds out his arms, offering a hug. I sniff and bury myself in his shirt, letting his arms wrap around my body. The heat from his chest radiates off him and comforts me. The steady beat of his heart keeps me sure that someone is really here for me. Here to wipe away my tears, provide a shoulder to cry on and keep a lifetime's supply to comforting hugs.

It's only when a deep voice interrupts, that I pull away from Finnick. I look to see a tall, broad man, dressed in a white suit. He stands, still, and looks at us uncertainingly.

"Mr Odair and umm..." He begins, staring at Finnick, then me.

"Daisy, my girlfriend" Finnick steps in, putting one arm across my shoulders.

I'm about to protest, but then I realise that it's best to just play along. So, I smile back at Finnick and lean my head into his arm.

"Oh right then. I wasn't too sure. I didn't recognise her, you know, just doing my job and keeping this place private. I'm sorry Mr Odair" The man in uniform stutters back to Finnick, then gives a small nod and walks down the corridor.

Finnick gives him a small wave and turns back to me, his face presenting a huge grin.

I glare back at him, but inside I'm laughing. He must be able to tell this, as he starts to chuckle.

"You should have seen your face, Zinny!" He laughs at me, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"It wasn't _that_ funny..." I deny.

"Uh, yes it was" he says.

"It was not!" I retaliate.

"Oh come on, lighten up" He says, lightly punching my arm.

"Me, lighten up?" I resist the temptation to laugh with him.

"Yes, you. Lighten up" He replies, still beaming with glee.

This guy is unbelievable! Telling me to lighten up, eh? Who does he think he is? But, all the same, he is quite a character. And always seems to make me smile...

"Ugh, fine" I cave in, letting ripples of laughter escape through my mouth.

"That's better! Laughter at last!"

"Hey, I'm not _that_ boring you know"

"Sure, whatever you say, Miss Mellark"

"Uh! At least I could have chosen a more interesting name. You're so... um, average!"

"I am no such thing!"

"Daisy? Seriously? You couldn't have been more imaginable?"

"I do have an imagination if that's what you're saying"

"Really? Is there even space in that ego of yours?"

"Hey! I do not have an ego!"

"Sure, whatever you say, Mr Odair"

"Ha ha, very funny"

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><p><strong>AN- Yay, so more cute Finnick stuff. I'm really loving making up their conversations x**

**So yup, that was chapter 5 and chapter 6 is currently being made now, so PLEASE REVIEW :D**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


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